


Class 

Rnnk .C 9A saA. 
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COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 




AS THEY DID IT 

OR 

The First Church of Warden 


By/ 

REV. FRED M. CODDINGTON 

11 




•o'’) o''o^ ^ 


CINCINNATI: 

.JENNINGS 

& P Y E 

NEW YORK: 

EATON & 

MAINS 


\. 





LiSRARV OF 

ec ^»G3css, 

Two Ou^•^£a Received 

DEC. 16 1901 

COP'''R1«HT EWTRV 

/cfc, / 

CLASS CL XXc. No. 
CO PY a 

— - n Il f 


COrVRIGHT, 1901, HY 
JENNINGS & PYE 


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Contents 


PAGE 

I. Facing the New 7 

II. A Brother’s Hand 20 

III. Moving Forward 35 

IV. True Effort - - ^ 49 

V. Open Fields - 64 

VI. Unto Him - 7 ^ 

VII. ‘‘Oi ’LL Try, Miss” 95 

VIII. “Really Insipid” iii 

IX. Conspiracy 127 

X. Foiled 144 

XI. “ Like True l^R I ends” 161 

. 

XII. “If I AM Wrong” 176 

XIII. “Into the Pit Anoother Toime” . - - - 191 

XIV. “Oi’mComin’ Back Ag’ in” .... 207' 

XV. Not Every Man His Price - . . . 223 

XVI. “Inasmuch” 240 


3 


4 Contents 

PAGE 

XVII. Decision 256 

XVIII. Reaching Out 271 

XIX. Sincerity 286 

XX. Light 300 

XXI. Perverted - 314 

XXIL “I Must Do Something” . . . . 330 

XXIII. ‘‘I Can Wait” ------- 345 

XXIV. “We are Saved by Hope” - - - - 360 

XXV. “ Treat IT Fairly ” 375 

XXVI. Resuming Work 390 

XXVII. “At Our Very Best” 404 

XXVIII. Answered 417 

XXIX. Realized 431 


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As They Did It 

CHAPTER I 

Facing the New 

‘‘Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.” 

TT was the last week in the year, and the days were 
passing rapidly, as is their custom at this season. 
Dr. Burns had entered his study rather later in the 
week than usual; extra duties in his parish had de- 
tained him. After disposing oi the correspondence 
whose importance demanded his immediate attention, 
he gave himself to pulpit preparation for the follow- 
ing Sunday. He remembered that this Sunday would 
be the last of the old year ; and his more than usual 
thoughtfulness was diversified by a feeling of sad- 
ness, of strong desire, and of hope. The history of 
the Old Year passed rapidly before his mind. He 
had an appreciation of what it had been to him and 
to his people — a year of golden opportunity, a year 
of manifold blessings. All this was passing forever 
now, and he instinctively held out his hand as in a 


7 


8 


As They Did It 


farewell to an old friend. He asked, audibly, the 
question which his own judgment had answered in 
the negative before the asking, “Have I and my dear 
people made the most and the very best of this pass- 
ing year?’' A negative answer to such a question, 
in a moment like this, brought no cheer to the doc- 
tor’s life. “I see,” he thought, “what might have 
been and what should have been. O that what 
might have been and should have been had been! 
Then would I and my people have been a greater 
power for righteousness. We would have been a 
brighter light and a greater inspiration to our dark- 
ened and wicked city. 1 see our sin. It is that of 
partial indifference, of failure fully to grasp the im- 
portance of our mission and a lack of vital faith. 
I have been guilty of this sin in my preaching, and 
my people have in their practice.” 

He arose from his chair, walked slowly across the 
study, and looked out of the window to the south- 
westward. As he stood there, the expression of pain- 
ful emotion passed from his countenance, and in its 
stead came the trace of a happier thought. After a 
moment he resumed his chair, and, in a subdued tone, 
spoke as to a sympathizing friend : “I know there 
is pardon waiting at the very door of every conscious 
and penitent sinner. It is a grace to be able to see 
wherein one’s sin lies. It is a greater grace to be 
able to feel penitence for sin. By virtue of the former 
grace we may direct our future course more wisely ; 
and by virtue of the latter, we obtain pardon of our 
God. What better time to turn from an erring past 
than at the departing of the old year? What better 
time to turn toward a noble and living future than 


9 


Facing the New 

at the dawning of a new year? Fully and heartily 
for myself and, as far as I may, for my people, I now 
take this course/^ He was silent for a moment, and 
then he spoke again with deep feeling: ^‘Blessed is 
he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is 
covered V 

After this exclamation, the doctor sat in silence; 
but the light of his dark-gray eye and the quickened 
expression of his countenance indicated that his 
trained mind was tracing a fruitful line of thought. 
At length, he turned in his study chair, and, with a 
bright smile playing upon his ample brow, he spoke 
in undertone : ''My way seems fashioned for me ; I 
even see, in definite outlines, my New-Year’s sermon. 
I consecrate myself to a hopeful future.” At this 
he bowed his head upon his writing desk in silent 
prayer. It was the custom of this servant of the 
Master to preface the preparation of every sermon 
thus. 

Dr. Burns was no novice. He brought to every 
enterprise the force of experience and the power of 
a mature mind. His way out of difficulties was to 
pass triumphantly through them. His manner of 
procedure with a perplexing problem was to solve 
it. The problem which was becoming of absorbing 
interest to him now was the deepening of the spiritual 
life in his Church and congregation. 

For fifteen years he had served the First Church 
of Warden, and his interest in it was natural. Al- 
though their relations as pastor and people had been 
happy, and their service to the Master and usefulness 
in his cause had been considerable, yet this pastor 
felt that not to advance was to sustain defeat, and 


lO 


As They Did It 


that the only advancement possible was to take 
higher spiritual grounds. 

The sermon, therefore, with which he faced his 
audience on the following Sunday was the natural 
outgrowth of such a conviction, together with the 
inspiration he had received as he meditated upon the 
history of the old and the hope of the new year. 

To reproduce this sermon completely would be 
to place ourselves in that audience and to take it 
from the doctor himself ; for his manly bearing, his 
thorough earnestness, and his unfeigned interest in 
his people became an effectual portion of his dis- 
course. We must content ourselves with a meager 
outline of his thought. 

As we have presumed, he took the first verse of 
the thirty-second Psalm . as a text : ^'Blessed is he 
whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is cov- 
ered. Quite free from the form and reserve which 
would have been in character with a minister less 
intimate with his people, the doctor spoke with the 
familiarity of an elder brother, and with the frank 
earnestness of a father. He spoke of the deep 
thoughtfulness that this period of the year had occa- 
sioned within himself ; and that in this spirit . of pen- 
sive thoughtfulness he' had candidly reviewed the 
record of his service among them. 

‘T find in this review,’’ he said, 'hnuch of ineffi- 
ciency, and am led to exclaim. Behold, what an un- 
profitable servant I am ! I have gone but a com- 
paratively little way into the broad realms of spirit- 
ual life. I have not been able to lead you, my dear 
people, into a deep spiritual experience. Heartless 
formality has characterized much of our mutual serv- 


Facing the New ii 

ice. Much of the work that our Master requires of 
us is yet undone. I desire to turn from that which 
has been unfruitful, and to lead you from it. I desire 
to turn toward a living and a fruitful future, and 
to lead you into such a future. And the Scripture 
we have named as our text, in what it suggests and 
in what it expresses, seems the voice of inspiration 
to me: 'Blessed is he whose transgression is for- 
given, whose sin is covered.’ 

"However great man may be, he is not his own 
sovereign. There is a Being of supreme authority 
to whom man is directly responsible for his motives 
and conduct. The wiJI of this supreme Ruler is 
always in accord with justice and truth, and consti- 
tutes the supreme law of man. When man strictly 
and cheerfully obeys this law, he conserves his own 
most vital interests. When man transgresses this 
law, he becomes a rebel in the government of the 
Supreme and a sinner against himself. The unre- 
lenting wicked are they who have no peace ; neither 
have they true prosperity. They may seem for a 
time to prosper, but such prosperity is only seeming. 
The penalty of a broken law can not be long evaded. 
True peace and true prosperity can come only when 
reconciliation is made between the transgressor and 
his Sovereign. In this reconciliation the transgres- 
sion is forgiven and the sin is covered. Such a con- 
dition is one of high favor. A happy relation now 
exists between the former rebel and his once offended 
Ruler — that of amicable understanding and peace. 
While such a life must regretfully remember an 
irregular past, it rejoices in restored favor, and is 
therefore blessed. But a life, thus humbled and re- 


12 


As They Did It 


stored, is a benediction to others by being an ex- 
ample of loving loyalty to its Sovereign, and of 
cheerful service within His realm ; and thus may 
answer the second significance of the term ^blessed/ ” 

Dr. Burns then stated that this happy reconcili- 
ation was accomplished by the mediation of the 
world’s Savior, the Son of God, whose advent to this 
world had been celebrated in the recent cheerful 
Christmas time. He spoke learnedly but in simple 
language of the beautiful offices of the Christ; that, 
as the one early promised, the one long foretold, the 
one to whom the sacrifices and forms of worship of 
the old dispensation pointed, He had in ages past 
been the world’s Redeemer. That Israel of old did 
all drink the same spiritual drink, for they drank of 
that spiritual rock that followed them, and that rock 
was Christ. That in the fullness of time the Christ 
became tangible to this world — a revelation of the 
loving Father’s heart and of the Father’s will and 
plan. 

'‘No one,” said Dr. Burns, "can look long upon 
this Christ and have left within himself any respect 
for sin. Neither need he have remaining any doubt 
as to the Father’s willingness to forgive our sins, or 
as to the Savior’s disposition and ability to deliver 
us from the thralldom of sin and to lead us in the 
paths of righteousness. To him who renounces a 
sinful career and accepts salvation through Christ, 
this world becomes new ; and he comes to an 
understanding of the Scripture which saith, Tf any 
man is in Christ, he is a new creature : the old things 
are passed away ; behold they are become new.’ ” 

The doctor continued : "It is this thought of the 


Facing the New 


13 


new that makes me hopeful; and I wish to impress 
you, my dear people, with this thought, and to inspire 
you with pure and reasonable hopefulness. I have 
referred, in a general way, to the need of a reforma- 
tion among us. I am sure that you will permit me 
more specifically to delineate the necessity of a new 
life in Christ. Many of us have some knowledge of 
this new life, by virtue of a graceful experience ; but 
I feel that we have not obeyed the wise word of 
St. Paul, addressed to his Church at Colosse : 'As 
therefore ye received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk 
in him.’ On this New-Year’s eve, our quickened 
memories recall the humility of life, the poverty of 
spirit, and the heaven-born love for the souls of men, 
that signalized the period of our reception of the 
Christ; and our judgments declare to us that we are 
not now walking thus in him. In the years that have 
gone, many of us have heard God’s call : 'Son, daugh- 
ter, give me thy heart ;’ and have not obeyed. Do 
we hear this voice now?” 

In the conclusion of his sermon. Dr. Burns raised 
his stately form to its full height, and his eye shone 
with the beauty of intense earnestness as if he were 
conscious that the last opportunity of a passing year 
and one of the supreme privileges of his life were at 
hand. "We have wealth,” he said, as he gracefully 
placed back the abundant iron-gray hair which had 
fallen over his forehead, "wealth that by the bless- 
ings of God we have been able to accumulate, but 
which we have never fully sanctified to our Master’s 
service. We have used it to conduce to our selfish 
comforts ; we are using it to buy luxuries for our- 
selves, regardless of the pressing want of the Lord’s 


As They Did It 


H 

poor. Do we hear the gentle voice of our Master, 
coming to us from every moment of his self-sacrific- 
ing service ? If so, what says that voice to us ? 

‘‘ W e have much wealth of natal and acquired abil- 
ity in young men and young women, blessed of God 
and favored among men, who are keeping back their 
lives from their Master, to whom they owe their all. 
My dear young friends, do you not, for the last time 
this year, hear the Master’s voice and feel the justice 
of his claim ? I would that you could see the richness 
and beauty of this to which He calls you ! Let me, 
as your spiritual father, tell you that you can only 
keep the beauty and richness and power of your lives 
by committing them lovingly to our Savior. Other- 
wise, they will be worse than lost to the world and 
to yourselves. 

blessed moment this ! It is called 'to-day.’ 
We may humble our hearts and turn from an un- 
profitable past. We may open our lives to the Mas- 
ter, and he will come into them with all the richness 
of his pardoning favor, with all the power of his 
regenerating grace. And then may the Psalmist’s 
words be our words : 'Blessed is he whose transgres- 
sion is forgiven, whose sin is covered.’ ” 

There was silence for a moment, and then Dr. 
Burns lifted his voice and very heart in prayer ; dur- 
ing which many other hearts were lifted, many eyes 
were dimmed by tears, and all were thoughtful. 


Harmon Dunbarr sat alone in his office. The 
hours of the night were passing, and he was thought- 
ful. He arose and nervously paced the floor for a 


Facing the New 


IS 


time, and then, standing before the bright fire, gave 
partial expression to his feelings in the following 
soliloquy : 

'‘This is no new situation ; I have faced it for 
years. Early in my life mother taught me of my 
responsibility to God, and of the rightful claim he 
had upon me. I have never forgotten her teachings, 
and from time to time have felt their truth and the 
importance of complying with them. But I found no 
convenient time during my college and professional 
courses ; neither have I in the last six busy years of 
my practice. But I am more than usually thought- 
ful to-night. Dr. Burns’s discourse, together with 
the fact that the old year can linger but a moment 
longer, and then the new is here, account, at 
least in part, for my mental condition. How earnest 
the dear doctor was to-night ! I have respected him 
since first I came to Warden; but now I feel that I 
really love him. He spoke of what we are keeping 
back from the Master, to whom we owe our all. It is 
not much that I have to give ; and yet, in honesty, I 
must admit that I am keeping from him that which is 
his due. What an appreciative expression his manly 
countenance took as he exclaimed, 'O blessed mo- 
ment this, called to-day!’ It is the thought of this 
moment that adds to the trouble of my mind. It is 
a favorable opportunity — perhaps my most conven- 
ient time — to surrender my life to the Master; and 
yet I delay. They call me a moral man, and I am 
proud to merit that term ; but I know my proud and 
sinful life better than they do. I know how much I 
must renounce and turn from, and how much I must 
take up and bear in order to become a true disciple 


i6 


As They Did It 


of Christ. But will I ever do this ? This is the ques- 
tion that I should settle, once and forever, in this 
vital hour. Strong man that I am, I tremble and feel 
weak in the presence of this thought of duty. My 
mother and, no doubt. Dr. Burns would tell me to 
pray, asking God for strength. In the hush of this 
dying year, I will act upon their advice.” 

At this moment the office door opened, and a 
laboring man entered, announcing himself in the fol- 
lowing excited manner: 

“Dr. Dunbarr, yer wanted in haste ! George Gra- 
ham is hoort savare ! Pie wor shtruck with a shtick 
o’ timber, loaded onto a flat kyer. We Ve got him 
home, but he is the worse inshted o’ bether ; an’ we 
fear he ’s dyin’. His home is No. 230 East Cedar 
Strate. Kin yez coom, sir, and now?” 

Dunbarr, while the man was yet speaking, had 
taken his instrument grip from the lower part of the 
bookcase, placing it on the table. And soon he had 
donned his overshoes, great coat, and fur cap, and 
was ready for the night. 

As they left the office, Graham’s friend was say- 
ing, “George was a good mon, Docthor — one o’ the 
bist o’ neighbors — an’ we kin ill afford to lose 
him.” 

The sound of their hasty footsteps ringing out 
upon the frosty air was quickly lost in the distance. 
Five minutes’ walk brought them to the home of the 
injured man, and Dunbarr was soon engaged in a 
thorough examination of him. 

As the examination advanced, the doctor’s face 
grew stern and pale. At length he raised his eyes 
and looked his patient in the face. At this Graham 


Facing the New 17 

asked: ‘What do you find, Doctor? I want to know 
the worst.” 

Dunbarr tried to look assuringly, but failed in this 
as well as in a prompt reply ; and while he hesitated, 
Graham spoke again : “Keep nothing from me. Doc- 
tor; I want a prompt answer. When the timber 
struck my body, I felt that it would cause my death. 
I think that now I am bleeding inwardly, and that 
there is no help for me. Am I right. Dr. Dunbarr?” 

“It pains me, Graham, to tell you that I think 
your fears are well founded. I can do nothing more 
than to relieve your sense of suffering somewhat. I 
will summon a council, if you desire.” 

“No, Doctor, it would be of no use, and I am a 
poor man. We have known and trusted you since 
little Mary came to bless our home, five years ago ; 
and we will trust your judgment and skill now. As 
to my suffering, although it is great, I would rather 
bear it than to have my faculties stupefied. Minutes 
are precious to me now ; I am growing weak rapidly, 
and I want my senses to the last. I have much that 
I want to say ; and while I shall address you, I want 
my wife, with our two little girls and kind neigh- 
bors, to be present, if they wish.” 

After Dunbarr had given him a remedy in the 
vain hope of arresting the hemorrhage and to retain 
his failing strength, Graham continued : 

“In my early life, I had a good home, was fairly 
well educated, and Christian influences were around 
me. When I was grown, I undertook business for 
myself and failed, losing all my investment, but 
through no fault of my own. The most of the time 
for a number of years I have held the position of 


i8 


As They Did It 

switchman in the railroad yards of this city, and have 
thus maintained my little family. To hold my po- 
sition I have been compelled to work sometimes upon 
the day which is sacred to the Christian. It was so 
this New-Year’s eve.” 

He paused for a moment, and then said: ‘T am 
much weaker. Can something be given to retain my 
strength a little longer ?” Dunbarr waited upon him, 
and he continued, but more feebly : 'Tt seems hard 
to go away at this time of life. I have so much to 
live for — so much I love dearly. I have not been a 
very bad man. The world has called me good ; but I 
have not been good. I have held back my life from 
the Savior of the world. I have had many excuses, 
but none of them satisfy me now. It seems hard to 
leave my wife and little girls, who need me so much ; 
but I will not murmur. Doctor, will you pray with 
us? My life is passing away with the year, and I 
want to commit my poor soul and the lives of my 
dear ones to the care of the infinite yet merciful God. 
Doctor, will you pray?” 

'‘We will send for Dr. Burns ; he can lead us in 
the way of eternal life,” replied Dunbarr. 

"No, you need not send for him. I have not the 
strength to tell him what I have told you, neither 
can I wait for him. We shall be satisfied if our doc- 
tor will lead the way to God for us.” 

"Graham,” said Dunbarr, "I am not a praying 
man. I am a poor, miserable sinner, who has long 
refused to turn to God. But I can not refuse your 
dying request ; and if you will pardon me for praying 
for myself first, I will try.” 

Dunbarr knelt and so did Mrs. Graham and the 


19 


Facing the New 

neighbors, and the dying man closed his eyes. The 
prayer came from the depths of Dunbarr’s heart in 
the few following words : 

“O God, I am a poor, miserable sinner, who has 
long wandered from thee ; but now I have come for 
pardon and peace and strength of life to do thy per- 
fect will. I come to ask thee to take this stricken 
family into thy never-failing care. I come to commit 
the soul of this dying man to thy merciful love. How 
can he die without thy pardoning favor? How can 
he die without the conscious love of Christ? From 
his penitent heart he asks for these, and thou wilt 
not deny him. Amen.’’ 

When they arose, Graham opened his eyes, was 
silent for a moment, and then spoke in feeble ac- 
cents : — 


CHAPTER II 


A Brother’s Hand 

‘‘There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.” 

iiTTOW I have presumed upon my Savior’s mercy! 

^ ^ At the very last, when I have no other refuge, 
I ofYer myself to him. How wonderful are his com- 
passion and love I He hears my tardy prayer, and, 
at this very late hour, admits my poor soul into the 
kingdom of grace. While I do not fear to go, as 
soon I must, yet I never so much desired to live as 
I do now. I feel that I am just beginning to live ; 
and lo ! death is at my very bedside. The years of 
my life have abounded in opportunities to give him 
loving service ; but I have met these opportunities 
with one answer, ‘Not now, not now I’ I go into 
eternity regretting that I have so long neglected my 
Savior.” 

Then he tried to turn upon his pillow, and began 
to cough. He strangled painfully, and, after a mo- 
ment, expectorated a quantity of blood. Then he 
nearly fainted, and they feared that he would not 
speak again. But he rallied, partially, and was able 
to address his family as follows : 

“Wife, I must give you and our little ones my 
farewell now, while strength is permitted me. My 
heart almost breaks at the thought of this ; but I 


20 


A Brother’s Hand 


21 


can give you up more easily than I could one-half 
hour ago. While the doctor was committing you 
to the care of the dear Savior, my very soul arose 
in strong petition that the Arm of everlasting Love 
might encircle you, my dear ones. I am assured that 
this will be, though I do not know just how. We own 
our humble cottage. This will shelter you. Be- 
sides, you remember that, by strictest economy, we 
have been able to keep up my life insurance. This 
will help you to meet the extra expense that will 
immediately be upon you, and also will maintain you 
for a time. Keep the little ones, that they may grow 
together. Give them what advantages you can. Do 
not send them to Sunday-school as it has been our 
custom, but rather go there with them, and to church 
as well. God, our Father, will provide for you. He 
will be your Father. He will prove himself to be a 
Friend to the widow and the fatherless.’’ 

Then he embraced them each in a painful fare- 
well, and they bowed at his bedside and poured 
forth their grief in bitter tears. 

Graham rested a moment, and then addressed the 
doctor : “Dunbarr, your position is enviable. Man- 
kind intrust their lives to you. You are with them 
when they must face eternity. It is within your 
power and privilege to be a physician of both soul 
and body. Be true to your privilege. Doctor ; be 
true to your privilege.” And he tried to extend his 
hand. Dunbarr, anticipating him, took his trembling 
palm and pressed it gently. 

Then Graham tried to address his neighbors ; but 
his strength failed, when he had said: ‘‘You are all 
very kind to us, and I am pained to leave you.” 


22 


As They Did It 

Then he coughed and strangled ; his body writhed 
and was tense in the final struggle, and then relaxed, 
and the clock in the church-tower was announcing 
the period at which the Old Year has departed and 
the New is at hand. 

Dunbarr kindly raised Mrs. Graham and the chil- 
dren from the bedside, and led them to the couch 
as he said: '‘We will try to compose ourselves now, 
and do as nearly as we can as Mr. Graham has ad- 
vised. It will be best for the little girls to sleep as 
soon as they can; they are very weary. A number 
of your kind neighbors will remain, and under your 
direction, Mrs. Graham, will do all that is required. 
It will be necessary for me to go soon.’’ 

When, a few minutes later, Dunbarr left the 
house, Thomas Wilson followed him, saying: "Do 
yez moind, Docthor, if Oi walk back a block or 
two wid yez? Oi fit died yez to see poor Graham, 
and it ’s no more ’n roight that Oi should go back 
a bit wid yez. It ’s a sad hour we ’ve been a-havin,’ 
and Oi wor proud o’ yez as yez took the part of 
both docthor an’ praste. It ’s a hape o’ good yez ’ll 
be for doin’ now, Docthor; an’ would yez moind to 
hilp a poor mon the loikes o’ me the bit as the toime 
cooms ?” 

"Certainly not, Wilson, but what do you need? 
What can I do for you?” 

"Oi need nothin’ at all jist now, but there ’ll coom 
a toim ; and then yez jist coom around, an’ while 
yez put yez hand on me shoulder, jist yez say. Brace 
oop, Tom, brace oop an’ be a mon.” 

"I am not a priest, Wilson, and never will be ; but 
I am determined to be a better man ; and if you 


A Brother's Hand 


23 


ever need a brother’s hand, just reach for mine. By 
the way, this is New-Year’s morning, and early also. 
Let ’s shake hands over it, and mean much by it, 
too. We will mean a happy New-Year to each of 
us, and to all our friends, and to as many as we can 
help. And will we mean too, Tom, that we will be 
servants of the Christ? I shall mean that as I cross 
palms with you, and you try to mean it, too.” 

Then they shook hands heartily, and parted; and 
as Wilson walked slowly back he muttered : ‘Tt ’s 
a good mon he is, an’ it ’s a hape o’ good he ’ll be 
a-doin’.” 

For a few minutes before retiring, Dunbarr sat 
silently in his room, and the scenes of the day and 
of the night passed vividly before his mind. He 
remembered, also, the struggle that his own life had 
experienced to arrive at a manly decision ; and his 
spirit knew something of that peace which follows a 
well-earned victory, and his eye was bright with the 
dawning of a truer life ; and in this frame of mind 
he retired. 

When he awoke, a perfect winter’s day had em- 
braced the little city of Warden. After an unusually 
late breakfast, he gave himself to the round of his 
professional visits. When this round was nearly com- 
pleted, and when he was upon the street and near 
the number of the parsonage, he embraced the op- 
portunity to step in for a moment and wish Dr. 
Burns a happy New-Year. He found that the doctor 
had just returned from the home of Mrs. Graham. 
He had learned of the accident and of Graham’s 
death, and, as the little girls attended his Sunday- 
school, he felt that the family would naturally look 


24 


As They Did It 


to him as their pastor. The sadness of that visit 
had somewhat depressed the doctor’s spirit, but he 
greeted Dunbarr with genuine cordiality. This young 
doctor had for years interested Dr. Burns, and he 
coveted him for the Master’s service. He had stud- 
ied him thoroughly, and he appreciated his natural 
reserve ; therefore he replied prudently to Dunbarr’s 
mannerly greeting on this first day of the year. 

‘'A happy New- Year to you, Dunbarr, the hap- 
piest you have yet known. I say this prompted by 
a strong desire, and inspired by a reasonable assur- 
ance that it will be so. I have visited Mrs. Graham 
and her fatherless children, and she and her neigh- 
bors told me what transpired at Mr. Graham’s death- 
bed. I have often meant more than I could express 
as I have taken your hand, but I never meant so 
much as I do now. Let my hand now be to you, 
more than ever, a brother’s hand.” 

Dunbarr was slightly embarrassed, but he replied 
frankly : '‘Dr. Burns, I owe much to your consistent 
life and faithful teachings. I have kept back my life 
from the Master too long. It was but little to give, 
but how long and stubbornly I have striven to with- 
hold that little ! Such a course has not been fair, 
nor manly, nor safe. One feels better after he has 
determined to be . a man. There is triumph in a 
positive decision for the right. I must bid you good- 
morning now. I shall need from you, not only a 
brother’s hand, but a father’s patient care as well.” 
He closed the door gently and passed rapidly down 
the street, and Dr. Burns’s prayerful eyes, from the 
window of the drawing-room, followed him. 

The afternoon was exceptionally pleasant, and 


A Brother’s Hand 


25 


many of the people of Warden took advantage of 
it to make New-Year's calls. Dunbarr, having a 
little leisure, and growing stupid over his late medical 
journal, yielded to a desire to take out-of-door exer- 
cise, and to make at least one ceremonious visit. As 
he came leisurely to the corner of Bellevue and Wash' 
ington Streets, he met Miss Gertrude Bronson, who, 
in her bright manner, addressed him : 

''Good afternoon. Dr. Dunbarr, and a prosperous 
New-Year for you. Were you on your way to favor 
me with a New-Year’s call?” 

"I had that intention. Miss Bronson, and am 
happy to meet you here, and shall be pleased to 
accompany you to your home ; but it may be that 
you have not finished calling.” 

Gertrude blushed prettily as she replied : "Indeed 
I have finished, and am going directly home; and 
you have my permission to accompany me.” 

These young people had met quite frequently 
within the last six years, at church and at receptions ; 
and a few times Dunbarr had met Miss Bronson at 
her home. This afternoon his visit was appropriately 
short. Mrs. Bronson greeted him in her usual formal 
manner, gave him her attention sufficiently long to 
receive his expressed good will, and then excused 
herself to entertain her own guests. 

At his going, as he was placing his gloves, Dun- 
barr remarked : "I remember. Miss Bronson, that 
I did not return your kindly wishes for my good for- 
tune for the year that we have begun to-day; but 
I do sincerely desire your happiness, and wish for 
you the very best that can come to any life in one 
long year.” 


26 


As They Did It 


“Thank you, Dr. Dunbarr ; but is happiness al- 
ways the very best that can come to a life, think 
you 

“I am not authority in such matters,'’ Dunbarr 
answered, “but I think we all naturally desire happi- 
ness, and many of us esteem it as the goal of life ; and 
yet I think I can see how the opposite of happiness 
may be, for a time, best for some lives.” 

“Please state a case. Doctor, where misery would 
be best for a time.” 

“Well, take a life that has been, for a prolonged 
period, favored with conditions that naturally con- 
duce to happiness ; and suppose that these conditions 
have not been rightly appreciated, but the life has 
grown proud and selfish. Now, to take away these 
conditions, and to permit that life to know want and 
misery, might be the very best thing that could oc- 
cur.” 

“But, Doctor, in what way could misery conduce 
to the betterment of such a life ?” 

“The unhappy conditions that we have supposed 
might awaken or renew a healthy appreciation of 
former happy conditions ; and to know what one has 
lost, frequently prompts to make wise effort to re- 
gain. But, Miss Bronson, I will beat a retreat here 
and now. You have taken me wholly out of my 
sphere, and not to retreat would be to surrender.” 

“I thank you. Dr. Dunbarr, for your thoughtful 
answer to my rude questions. You doctors think 
that your only sphere is to read the latest medical 
journals, to keep yourselves up to date in disin- 
fectants, and antiseptics, and anaesthetics, and to 
know how to set a broken bone or to take a man’s 


A Brother’s Hand 


27 


head to pieces in the latest fashion. But I, too, must 
call a halt here and now, or I will demonstrate how 
remote I am from my sphere.’' 

Dunbarr was about to answer, '‘It would be diffi- 
cult to bound a true woman’s sphere,” when Ger- 
trude remarked : 

"Our Church is to observe the Week of Prayer 
this week, and on Wednesday night the Christian 
Endeavor Society will have charge of the meeting; 
and I, as a member of one of the committees, invite 
you to be present.” 

Dunbarr thanked her, and expressed a desire that 
his professional duties might not prevent his attend- 
ing the service. 

When he returned to his office he found a call 
awaiting him, and soon his mind was busy with the 
care of the sick. 

Late in the afternoon, when Gertrude and her 
mother were alone, Mrs. Bronson asked, "Did you 
call upon Mrs. Sawyer, and how is she to-day?” 

"I did, mamma, and I found her much recovered 
from her cold. Mrs. Burton and Mrs. Stevens were 
there, and I became quite interested in their con- 
versation. They were discussing Church matters.” 

"It is quite natural that they should, as they are 
members of the same Church,” remarked Mrs. Bron- 
son. "Anything of especial interest?” 

"Dr. Burns’s sermon of last night was the topic. 
Auntie Sawyer asked about it. Mrs. Burton thought 
it a very earnest effort, and 'so appropriate.’ She 
thinks appropriateness is one of the chief elements 
of strength. She thought, however, that it would 
have been better had Dr. Burns taken a theme sug- 


28 


As They Did It 


gested by the Evangelical Alliance or by the Boston 
ministers’ meeting. ‘I feel/ said she, 'that so much 
may be gained by keeping in touch with great minds, 
and by tracing lines of thought in common with 
them.’ Mrs. Stevens admitted that Dr. Burns was 
more than usually earnest, but she could not see 
the appropriateness of his discourse, only in point of 
time. 'I think,’ said she, 'that many of his assertions 
do not apply to our Church. Where is the apparent 
need of a great reformation among us? There may 
be a few who need to be reformed, but they are 
among the illiterate and poorer class, who should 
never have been admitted to our membership. Are 
we not the wealthiest and most respectable Church in 
our city? And is not this wealth set apart to the 
Master’s cause? We pay our pastor a good salary. 
We meet all our bills when they are due. We are 
making substantial improvements upon our church 
property from time to time. I truly respect our 
pastor, yet I feel that he was too sweeping in his 
assertions.’ 

"Auntie Sawyer answered them, in her quaint 
New England way: 'Well, I have observed that it 
is an easy mattah to offer criticism; but it is moah 
difficult to go forward and do the thing bettah. I 
have also observed that it is a great grace to know 
the’ truth when you heah it and see it, and that it 
is a greater grace to make a practical application of 
truth. I have long felt that the Church of Christ 
should be moah than a literary and mutual admira- 
tion society. I have thought for years that if ouah 
Church would consecrate to the Mastah one-third 
of the money that it expends for luxuries, our mis- 


A Brother’s Hand 


29 


sionary benevolences would be doubled, and we 
would have enough remaining to equip a mission 
school in ouah city, and to clothe scores of pooah 
boys and girls suitably for church and Sunday- 
school/ But, mamma, am I not almost gossiping in 
telling you thus what I have heard others say ?” 

‘‘Not at all, my daughter, not at all. I have a 
right to know what you see and hear. I can not 
agree with Mrs. Sawyer in this matter. We are not 
to be blamed that people are poor. We have the 
right to get some comfort out of our own money. 
I do not see why Dr. Burns should urge upon our 
Church the necessity of taking higher spiritual 
ground/’ and Mrs. Bronson left the room to give 
some directions to the servant. 

In the seclusion of her own room, at night, Ger- 
trude reviewed the events of the day. That she 
“found this review interesting, was evident. It was 
also evident that Dunbarr had a place in her thought, 
for at one time she spoke gently as to a confiding 
friend : 

“Mamma is not pleased that I permit his occa- 
sional attentions. She says that he is only a poor 
doctor, with uncertain antecedents, and that if he is 
not an infidel, he is certainly very indifferent to re- 
ligion. How well he answered me this afternoon ! 
How thoughtful he seemed ! His answer would in- 
dicate that he has thought upon subjects which per- 
tain to religion. Mamma often reminds me that I 
am respectably connected, and that I am a child ot 
culture and wealth. And he spoke to-day of the 
possibility of being surfeited with good things. I 
wonder what papa thinks of him. I shall know one 


30 


As They Did It 

clay, for I shall be bold enough to ask him. I am 
not sufficiently acquainted with my father. I must 
know him better. This is one of my New- Yearns 
resolutions — to form the acquaintance of my father.’' 

She was looking intently upon a landscape paint- 
ing, — a beautiful picture of Spring as it is passing 
into Summer; but the expression of her dark eyes 
signified that her thoughts were farther away than 
the picture upon the wall of her room. And thus 
we leave her for the night. 

Wednesday was to Dr. Burns one of those trying 
days which come not infrequently to the life of a 
pastor. In the afternoon he attended the funeral of 
George Graham, and this drew upon his sympathy. 
In the evening the Endeavorers had charge of the 
meeting; and so true was the interest which he had 
in his young people that he felt a greater anxiety 
for the service that he would, had it been left entirely 
with himself. This meeting was largely attended. 
The topic was, ‘^Christ’s Claim Upon Us and Our 
Response.” The prevailing thought was that Christ 
has a right to our very best — our time, our talent, 
our wealth, our youth, our life, our very all. The 
uniform confession was to a lack of willingness to 
yield to Christ’s claim. The prayer that was offered 
from many hearts was for help to surrender to Christ. 
Circumstances combined to make this a most ex- 
cellent meeting. It was the first week of the year. 
A number of the members who had been absent 
from the city were home for the holiday vacation. 
One of thes^, a student, was the leader of the meet- 
ing. To-morrow he would go back to the college, 
and he wanted to be more than ever a true servant 


A Brother’s Hand 


31 


of the Master. And he wanted to leave his young 
friends in possession of a happy willingness to serve 
as Christians. He gave the last quarter of the time 
to be used just as those present desired, remarking 
that they should be pleased to hear from any present, 
who were not members of the society. The spirit 
of the meeting had charmed Dunbarr, and he em- 
braced this opportunity to speak. He said: 

‘'This meeting has done me good. I have believed 
your teaching that Christ’s claim is just, and that 
he merits our all. I have understood your language, 
as you have confessed that you have not fully yielded 
to his claims. My heart has felt the strong desire, 
which your prayers have expressed, that God would 
give you strength to serve nobly and faithfully in 
this year. I have recalled one sentence in our pas- 
tor’s sermon of last Sunday night, ‘No one can look 
long upon the Christ, and have left within himself 
any respect for sin.’ At the very closing of the old 
year I decided to abandon a life of sin. At the very 
beginning of the new year I gave my life, poor and 
worthless as it is, to the service of the Son of God, 
who came to take away my sin. From henceforth 
the Christ is my Master. This is my first privilege 
publicly to confess him as such.” 

A blessed, tearful silence followed, which was soon 
broken by the voice of a young lady requesting that 
all unite in singing two stanzas of “I am coming to 
the cross and they broke forth in beautiful concert : 

“ I am coming to the cross ; 

I am poor, and weak, and blind ; 

I am counting all but dross, 

I shall full salvation find.” 


32 


As They Did It 


At the conclusion of the meeting, many warm 
hearts greeted Dunbarr. But these greetings were 
brought to an abrupt ending by a voice at the door 
of the lecture-room saying, '‘If Dr. Dunbarr is here 
I wish to see him promptly.’’ 

The week passed rapidly. Sunday came, and Dr. 
Burns met his people in a ministry which was loving 
and faithful. Dunbarr thought he never heard him 
preach so well, and he found occasion to tell him 
so. Dr. Burns replied, "You hear better than for- 
merly, my dear fellow; that ’s the secret of it.” 

As the clock was striking the hour of ten, Sun- 
day night, Dunbarr sat alone in a pleasant review 
of the week. It had been to him the eventful week 
of his life. He recognized it as such, remembering 
the unsettled condition his mind was in one week 
ago, and he contrasted it with the present condition 
of his mind. But his pleasant reverie was broken 
by the sound of footsteps at the office door, and soon 
Thomas Wilson entered. Dunbar greeted him with, 
"How are you, Mr. Wilson? Have a chair. Is there 
anything I can do for you?” 

"Wal, loikly,” was Wilson’s laconic reply, as he 
sat down heavily. 

"What is it, then? I am at your service.” 

"Oi Ve jist coom ’round to where yez are. Koind 
o’ jist rachin’ fur yer hand. Oi ’m jist coom to say, 
now Dunbarr ’s yer toime to put yer hand on me 
shoulder and say. Brace oop, Tom, brace oop an’ 
be a mon.” 

Dunbarr now understood Wilson’s trouble, and 
he was pained as he asked, "Tom Wilson, are you 
drunk?” 


A Brother’s Hand 


33 

‘‘Yis, it ’s iiarly that Oi am ; but Oi ’d the ruther 
ye’d say intoxicated; it sounds differunt.” 

^^Tom, this is too bad ; it would have been better 
for you to have come to me with a broken leg, than 
in this condition.” 

^^How could Oi coom to yez with a broken leg, 
alone by mesilf?” 

''But, Tom, what do you expect me to do for 
you?” 

“Oi kin not roightly say; but yez said to me, 
airly on the New-Yaer’s mornin’, if Oi ’d iver nade 
a brother's hand, jist to rach for yez; and Oi 'm 
rachin' for it to-noight. Oi 'm soom intoxicated now, 
but Oi ’ll be the more so soon ; fur Oi turned in a 
hape o’ it.” 

"But Wilson, where did you get your liquor? This 
is Sunday night, and all saloons are supposed to be 
ctosed.” 

"Do they fool yez so, Docthor? There’s a part 
open al’way, when ye foind it.” 

"Well, you evidently found it, and you can point 
it out to me or to the police, and the saloon man can 
be punished for violating the law.” 

"It ’s not mesilf that ’ll be a-pintin’ it out to yez, 
and the perlice nade none o’ me hilp.” 

"Why will you not tell me where you got the 
drink? And how do you expect me to help you?” 

"Do yez think Tom Wilson would squale on a 
friend ? And if Oi did, Oi ’d git no more drink there, 
at all, at all. And yez can be the part o’ a brother 
by givin’ me a warrum corner hare by the fire, when 
Oi ’v becoom roight drunk.” 

"You would be welcome to remain here by my 
3 


34 


As They Did It 

fire, but your family will be worried about you, not 
knowing where you are. I will help you to your 
home now, before you are any worse ; and I want 
you to come to my office to-morrow night when you 
are yourself — Thomas Wilson, and not liquor. 

‘^Oi do not loike me home when Oi ’m intoxi- 
cated. It ’s not at all interestin’ at sich toimes.” 

'‘But I shall insist on taking you home, Tom, and 
may be, if I speak a word or two to your family 
it will be a little more pleasant for you.” 

And a few minutes later Wilson was shuffling 
down the walk toward his home, supported by Dun- 
barr’s arm. 


CHAPTER III 


Moving Forward 

Speak unto the children of Isarel, that they go forward.” 

'T^HE term “drunk/’ which Wilson objected to 
^ while in Dunbarr’s office, was certainly expressive 
of his condition when he reached his home ; and 
Dunbarr felt wearied with the proof of the correct- 
ness of Tom’s statement, “Oi ’ve turned in a hape 
o’ it.” 

The house was dimly lighted, and Dunbarr 
knocked gently at the door. Wilson, in his bewilder- 
ment, called out, “Coom een !” Presently the door 
opened slowly, and a woman of the ordinary height, 
but slight of figure, stood before them. Before Dun- 
barr could speak, Wilson began with : “It ’s a foine 
mon Oi ’ve fitched home wid me, mom. Sure an’ 
Oi must now make yez acquainted. Mis’ Wilson, 
Oi ’ve the pleasure of interducin’ Dr. Dunbarr to 
yez, an’ he ’ll talk to yez foine ; an’ ye ’ll excuse me 
if Oi do n’t talk mooch, for Oi ’ve a bad falin’ een 
me head;” and he staggered through the door and 
to the farther side of the room, where he sat down 
heavily upon a lounge near the stove. 

Mrs. Wilson requested Dunbarr to take a chair, 
which he did, saying that he would stay but a short 
time. He told her how her husband came to his 
35 


36 


As They Did It 


office, and that he had insisted on bringing him home. 
He asked her how long Wilson had been addicted 
to drink, and she replied, '‘He ’s always loiked it, but 
for more nor four years he ’s been bad so.'' 

"I feel," said Dunbarr, "that there is much good 
left in him yet. He and I were brought close to- 
gether early on New-Year's morning. I did not 
understand then why he asked me to help him when 
the time should come ; but it is all clear to me now, 
and I shall do my best to help him out of his trouble." 

"It 's mesilf that 's been tryin' these long years 
to hilp him, and he 's none the bether, but the woors 
an’ the woors. What he arnes in the week he mostly 
dhrinks away on Saturday noight an' the Sunday. 
Oi shcold an' Oi cry ; an' then Oi shlave on to fade 
an’ clothe the children an' to pay the rint. It 's oot 
ov hope Oi am. Tom did try hard to begin the New- 
Yaer sober; an' mesilf an' Willie watched him an' 
hilped him. But it 's no use to hilp more." And 
she clinched her hands in utter despair as she looked 
towards the lounge where lay her husband, breath- 
ing heavily in drunken stupor. 

"We will not give him up yet," answered Dun- 
barr. " I never abandon a patient as long as there 
is so much life in him as there is in your husband. 
I have requested him to come to my office to-morrow 
night. I wish you to help him to remember my re- 
quest and prompt him to come at 7.30. If I am not 
in when he calls, tell him to take charge of the office 
till I return. Keep up your hope — do not let that 
die — and all may be brighter some day. Good-night 
now.’’ 

She stood in silence as if counting Dunbarr’s re- 


Moving Forward 


37 


tiring footsteps. Then she turned to a chair near 
the fire, and said, as she sat : ^‘Indade he is a good 
mon; an’ if he kint hilp Tom, no mortal nade try. 
But Oi faer he ’s coom too late. Why could he not 
’ve coom airlier? Why could not soom one ha’ coom 
airlier? He’s the first who sames to keer for our 
good at all. But he said Oi must kape hope, an’ 
Oi ’ll try, Oi will.” 

Dunbarr sat for a few minutes in his cozy office 
before he retired. If he were somewhat gloomy, it 
was because the sad picture of Wilson’s home was 
before his mind. He wondered how many other 
homes in the city presented pictures equally as hope- 
less, and he asked, ^'Where and what is the remedy?” 
Then he leaned fully back in his office chair, resting 
the back of his head in his hands, with fingers locked, 
as if to remain true to his thought in search of the 
remedy. Then he arose and stood before the fire, 
and asked audibly: ''What would the people of the 
fashionable society of Warden have thought of me 
had they beheld me as I half-carried drunken Wilson 
home to-night? What would they have thought had 
they seen me conversing with Mrs. Wilson in her 
dingy home, planning for the reformation of her 
drunken husband? What would Gertrude Bronson 
have thought of me had she seen all of this ?” Then, 
as he lifted his eyes and passed his fingers* through 
his hair, he asked in firmer tones : "What would my 
Master have thought — what did he think as he saw 
all this? That is the question — the only question I 
need to ask.” 

At 7.30 on Monday night, Wilson entered Dun- 
barr’s office. Dunbarr was busy with a patient at 


3 ^ 


As They Did It 

the time, but he turned to him and said: “Good 
evening, Wilson ; glad to see you. I will be at leisure 
soon. Be seated.'^ 

When they were alone, Dunbarr asked, “How are 
you feeling to-night, Wilson?’' 

“O, Oi fale tired loike; have been workin’ hard 
the day.” 

“Where do you work?” 

“In the Bronson Iron Works.” 

“What wages do you receive?” 

“One an’ the half dollars the day.” 

“That is quite good pay, Wilson. You should be 
able to provide for your family and lay by a little 
for a rainy day out of that, should you not ?” 

“Loikely Oi should, but Oi do n’t.” 

“No, I fear you do not, Tom, and we both know 
why you do not ; and that is one thing that we want 
to talk about to-night. How long have you been 
employed in the Iron Works?” 

“ ’T is nare aboot five year already.” 

“How do you manage to keep your position ?” 

“The boss is not aisy on us aboot the thrink. In 
the wake we must have niver the bit o’ the smell o’ 
liquor aboot us, or he ’ll turn us oot ; an’ there ’s 
manny the mon that ’s a-wantin’ oor place, an’ when 
one ’s oot o’ one place he ’s oot all ’round, an’ is 
loikely to shtay oot ; an’ soon he ’ll be oot o’ mooney, 
an’ then he ’s oot wors.” 

“And so you do not drink till Saturday night?” 

“Not the dhrop, sir; an’ Oi ’m orful thirsty when 
the toime cooms.” 

“At what time do you receive your pay? On 
Saturday night ?” 


Moving Forward 


39 


''Yis, we all gits oor pay at that toime/’ 

^^And then you drink all night Saturday and some 
on Sunday?’’ 

‘‘Yis, if the niooney lasts.” 

“You do not mean to say that you drink nine 
dollars’ worth of liquor in twenty-four hours?” 

“Not all be mesilf, but there ’s manny a lad yez 
moost thrate, an’ there ’s manny a poor friend, with- 
oot money, who ’s as thirsty as yersilf ; an’ yez moost 
be koind to the poor friend; an’ then if yez should 
have a little mooney left the Monday it nioight be 
aisy to bhreak the rule an’ take a dhrink or two in 
the wake.” 

“There is much about all of this that is wrong, 
very wrong, Tom. You are wasting your time, and 
squandering your money, and throwing your life 
away. You are bringing ruin upon yourself and 
upon your home. You are better to the man who 
sells you the drink than you are to your wife and 
children. You give him nearly all of your money, 
while your family is suffering for lack of that which 
it would buy for them. You have not forgotten that 
you asked me one week ago to be a friend to you 
when you needed a friend, have you, Tom?” 

“No sir; Oi said, ^Would yez moind to hilp a poor 
mon the loikes o’ me, the bit, as the toime cooms?’ 
An’ Oi said too, ‘When the toime cooms, jist put yer 
hand on me shoulder an’ say. Brace oop, Tom ; brace 
oop, an’ be a mon.” 

“And you remember that I promised to help you 
whenever I could. And it is to help you that I talk 
so plainly to-night. For me to give you a comfort- 
able place in my office when you are intoxicated. 


40 


As They Did It 

and to help you to your home when you are drunk, 
will do you no permanent good. The only safe course 
for you to take is to stop drinking. The only real 
benefit that I can be to you is to help you in your 
efforts to reform. Now, what I want to know is this : 
Will you begin to-night one of the hardest battles 
a man ever fought? And will you promise to fight 
it to the finish?’’ 

Wilson hesitated, and Dunbarr, thinking that his 
questions were not fully understood, explained : 

‘T mean will you begin now and here to break 
the drink habit? Will you begin to overcome an 
enemy who compels you to give your hard-earned 
money to a selfish man, while your wife and chil- 
dren nearly starve? Will you begin to be a man, 
instead of a stupid slave of some rumseller, who gives 
you for your money that which makes a brute of 
you and ruins your body and damns your soul ? And 
will you let me help you in every way possible with 
me?” 

“Dunbarr,” replied Wilson, “Oi ’m a poor wake 
mon. Oi ’ve bhroken me promise manny’s the toime. 
Oi ’d fale bad to bhreak me word to yez. Will yez 
bide a bit till Oi think o’ the matter more?” 

“How long would you like me to wait for your 
answer? You have no more time to lose, Tom. I 
want some sort of a promise from you to-night, be- 
fore you go out. Promise this much, that you will 
give your wife five dollars at 6.30 next Saturday 
night, and that you will come to my office and see 
me before you enter a saloon again.” 

“Oi will promise to give the foive dollars, but 
Oi ’d rither bide a bit afore Oi promise the last.” 


Moving Forward 41 

'‘Well, tell me this, Do you desire me to do all 
I can to help you to reform 

“Indade Oi do, sure ; an' Oi ask it o' yez." 

“Well, then, if you will try, you may depend upon 
me. I have a patient to visit in another part of the 
city now, and I must let you go. But let me assure 
you, if you will put forth as great an effort to help 
yourself as I intend to put forth to help you, you will 
soon be a better man. And remember, Tom, my 
effort alone can never save you. Unless you try with 
all your power to break this habit, you will die a 
miserable drunkard." 

With what mingled desire and hope and fear Tom 
Wilson went out into the night none can know save 
those whose will-power is sadly weakened by alcohol, 
and over whom habit has serious control. 

The Week of Prayer awakened a deep religious 
interest in Dr. Burns's Church. At the close of the 
Friday night service the large audience, composed 
of old and young, by a rising vote, requested the 
doctor to continue the meetings another week. He 
was happy to comply with this request. The meet- 
ing was large and enthusiastic on the following 
Monday night, and it became evident that they would 
need a larger room for their services. Dr. Burns 
advised them to seat with chairs the pastor's re- 
ception-room, which was so situated that by lifting 
a movable partition it would become a convenient 
adjunct to the lecture-room. This, the doctor 
thought, would be better than to move into the large 
auditorium of the church. The services were con- 
ducted in a simple and natural manner. At the open- 
ing a few minutes were devoted to a song service. 


42 


As They Did It 

which was led by the organist and chorister, the 
audience joining soulfully. This was followed by a 
short Bible-reading and a season of earnest prayer. 
In each service Dr. Burns gave a short and spirited 
address, whose intent and effect was to deepen the 
spiritual life of his Church and to lead the uncon- 
verted to submit to the claims of Christ. The latter 
part of the meeting was given to fellowship and in- 
quiry. The presence of the Divine Master seemed 
to be realized in every service. The Church, in a 
large proportion of its membership, confessed to a 
lack of consecration, and expressed a desire to re- 
new their covenant vows. Many who had hitherto 
refused to be known as the servants of Christ came 
out willingly and intelligently, offering their lives to 
the Lord and desiring to be numbered among his 
people. 

Gertrude Bronson, who had begun to act upon 
her new resolution to become better acquainted with 
her father, had prevailed upon him to accompany her 
to the meetings several nights. On Tuesday night 
of this second week he arose in his place, and spoke 
distinctly, as follows : 

‘Tor many years I have been a member of this 
Church. I have contributed to its current expenses, 
and have had some voice in the management of 
its property and financial affairs. I have been fairly 
regular in attendance upon the Sunday-morning 
service ; and I have partaken of the Lord’s Supper 
with my brethren at stated times. This has comprised 
my direct and public religious service. I have known, 
with some degree of satisfaction, that my Church 
has maintained a midweek prayer-meeting — I should 


Moving Forward 


43 


feel annoyed to belong to a Church that does not 
maintain such a service — yet I have never con- 
tributed even my presence to the support of the 
prayer-meeting. I have rejoiced somewhat that my 
Church has maintained a flourishing Sunday-school ; 
and yet, for years, I have had no part in this branch 
of Church work. I have been pleased when I have 
known that men and women have been led to abandon 
the life of sin, and to unite with the Church of 
Christ ; but I do not remember that I ever asked 
any one to become a servant of Christ. I began 
to attend these meetings, not from a sense of re- 
ligious duty, but rather to please my daughter. I 
am thankful that I was led to attend them. They 
have done me good. I have been led to feel that 
there is a decided difYerence between a passive pro- 
fession of religion and a positive, loving service of 
Christ. I perceive more clearly than ever before 
that Christlikeness proceeds from a life that has been 
quickened by the presence of the spiritual Christ. 
As I have sat among you, I believe I have felt my 
spirit quickened and my heart made warm and tender 
by the presence of the Divine Master ; and I have 
felt ashamed that I have not done more for him; 
and I have felt a strong desire to do more ; and I 
pledge that from this hour I will be a practical 
Christian man.’’ 

As Mr. Bronson sat down, Dr. Burns responded, 
"‘Thank God ! we are moving forward.” And at the 
close of the service he shook his hand most cor- 
dially, as he said, ""Brother Bronson, this is the dawn- 
ing of a brighter day.” 

On the way home from the meeting, Mrs. Stevens 


44 


As They Did It 


remarked to Mrs. Burton : ‘‘I do not understand the 
unusual interest that the people are taking in the 
meetings, I can not say that I approve of all that 
is taking place there. The position that Jerome 
Bronson took to-night ; think of it ! He and I united 
on the same day, some ten years ago, and he has 
been a member in good standing since that time ; 
and to-night he virtually confessed that he has been 
living an unworthy life all these years. Such a 
course brings a reproach upon other members who 
are in good standing. The people of our community 
know full well that Jerome Bronson’s life has all 
this time compared favorably with mine in every re- 
spect, and they will be apt to reason that if he should 
take a more decidedly spiritual stand, I should also. 
And so I say, if the course that he took to-night 
does not bring reproach, it certainly brings embar- 
rassment upon us. Such religious enthusiasm is 
trending towards fanaticism ; and I despise a religious 
fanatic.” 

Mrs. Burton had reached her number, but she 
tarried to reply : ^^The character that the meetings 
have assumed and the position taken by Mr. Bronson 
seem to me to be quite appropriate ; indeed, I may 
say very appropriate. I trust that the good work 
may go on.” 

After church, Mr. Bronson sat in his home with 
his family in pleasant converse. When the hour for 
retiring came, Gertrude came to her father’s side, 
sat down upon the arm of his chair, and put her 
arm caressingly upon his shoulder as she said : ‘‘Papa, 
how many white hairs there are on your head ! Why 
do they come there?” 


Moving Forward 45 

‘'Why, the years, our highly esteemed friends, 
bring them to me/' 

“Yes; but, papa, does not care sometimes bring 
white hairs before the years have had time to do 
so?" And then, with admirable earnestness, looking 
into his eyes, she whispered, “I was proud of my 
father to-night, and I shall ever be proud of him." 

His only reply was a look of paternal love; and 
she saw back of his expressive eyes a soul of love 
and a soul at peace. And a moment later he asked, 
“Gertie, will you go to the piano and lead us in a 
hymn before you retire?" 

She could not have chosen better, for soon her 
rich contralto voice was leading in the dear old 
hymn, “Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee;" 
and her father’s deep-toned bass never conveyed so 
great a charm to her soul as then it did, as together 
they sang. And her mother’s true alto, as she joined 
them in the latter part of the hymn, seemed possessed 
of more than its usual harmony. When she arose 
from the piano, Gertrude did not care to speak; 
but she kissed her parents good-night and went to 
her room. Her mother soon retired, and her father 
sat for a few moments alone. Then he went to the 
window, raised the shade, and looked out. The 
half-full moonlight upon the glistening snow clothed 
the silent night with sweet tranquillity, and he re- 
peated the one word which, for him, expressed so 
much, “Peace, peace." Then he turned from the 
window, and spoke softly: “Gertie said that she was 
to-night proud of her father. The child perceives 
when her father does what is consistent with his 
profession. It must be, also, that she has perceived 


46 


As They Did It 

her father's inconsistency. And my inconsistency 
might have influenced her seriously. But she has 
faith in me, for she said she would always be proud 
of her father. Here is one of the many incentives 
for my future. But Gertrude is no longer a child; 
she is a beautiful woman. With this fact I am 
pleased, and I am pained. I am pleased, because in 
the development of the child our ideal has been 
more than realized. I am pained, because nature 
prompts the bird to fly, when fully fledged ; and so 
many problems are involved in the flight of the 
fledgling." And he sighed and went slowly to his 
room. 

Just before dismissing the meeting of Wednesday 
night. Dr. Burns announced that, by request of Miss 
Gertrude Bronson, a meeting of the young and 
middle-aged women was called for Thursday night 
at 6.30 o'clock in the lecture-room of the church. 

Miss Bronson looked forward to this meeting 
with some misgivings, and feared that but few would 
attend. But in this she was happily disappointed; 
for more than twice the number she had dared to hope 
for greeted her at the appointed time. She stated 
that the object of the meeting was a very simple one. 
It was not to call into existence an organization 
with complex machinery, but it was to form a band 
for one object. Said she : '^There are many wives 
and mothers and daughters locally belonging to the 
territory of our Church who seriously lack social 
and religious advantages. We are really doing noth- 
ing for these. In the name of our Master we ought 
to do something for them. Now, I propose that we 
band together and declare it to be the duty and 


Moving Forward 47 

object of this band to call upon these destitute homes 
and minister unto them. I have consulted our pas- 
tor concerning this matter, and have his approval. 
No matter what name our band bears. We may call 
ourselves Loyal Daughters, or any other good name ; 
but we should begin our duties at once.’’ 

The plan was so simple, practicable, and so evi- 
dently desirable that there was no opposition to it. 
Mrs. Burton remarked that the desirableness of some 
such undertaking had frequently occurred to her, 
that she deemed it very appropriate, and was willing 
to pledge herself to it. 

Miss Bronson suggested that Mrs. Burton should 
make a minute of this, their first meeting; and then 
they adjourned, promising to begin their ministra- 
tions upon the morrow, and agreeing to meet at the 
home of Mrs. Sawyer on the following Saturday 
afternoon, there to recite their experiences and to 
council together. 

It was an unusual undertaking for these women 
of the First Church of Warden to go into homes 
whose social standing was far below their own. And 
many of these homes were, at first, embarrassed by 
the presence of women of culture and refinement. 
But this embarrassment gradually vanished, and in 
its stead came a kindly feeling towards and a genuine 
interest in those who had come to them to help them 
make their lives brighter. 

At about four o’clock on this Friday afternoon, 
Miss Bronson and her companion in calling parted 
company, and started toward their respective homes. 
Gertrude’s way took her by No. 230 East Cedar 
Street. She knew that this was Mrs. George 


48 


As They Did It 

Graham’s number, and she decided that she would 
make one call alone. She felt that she had been 
already introduced, for she had aided in the music 
at the funeral of Mr. Graham. As Mrs. Graham 
admitted her, Gertrude noticed that her eyes were 
red with weeping, and that she was too troubled 
to enter into conversation. Interpreting her inquir- 
ing gaze, Mrs. Graham led the way to the bedroom. 
Upon the bed lay little Mary, with closed eyes and 
flushed face. She was breathing rapidly and with 
difficulty. ‘'She was taken ill last night,” explained 
Mrs. Graham. “I sent for the doctor two hours 
ago. I do not see why he does not come.” Ger- 
trude was sitting upon the edge of the bed in deep 
solicitude, when there was a knock at the door, and 
Dr. Dunbarr was admitted. At the sight of him Mrs. 
Graham’s feelings overcame her, for she associated 
him with the sad event of but a few days ago. 

“I was in another part of the city when your 
summons came to my office, Mrs. Graham. Do not 
give way to your fears. I trust that the case is not 
a serious one and he followed her to the room 
where the sick child lay. At that moment little Mary 
moaned and opened her eyes, and so great was Ger- 
trude’s solicitude that she did not see Dunbarr until 
he stood by her side. She was startled, but arose 
and presented her hand, as she said, “Good after- 
noon, Dr. Dunbarr.” 

Dunbarr was surprised to meet her there ; but 
he greeted her cordially, and then gave his undivided 
attention to the condition of the little sufferer. 


CHAPTER IV 


True Effort 

“ For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.” 

AT the conclusion of a careful examination, Dun- 
barr turned to Mrs. Graham and said, as he 
placed his hand tenderly upon the little, throbbing 
chest : “The trouble is here, principally. Pneumonia 
is prevalent in the city this month ; but we have taken 
the case in time, and there is but little doubt as to 
the child’s recovery. She has been a stout little 
body all her life, and I think that her system will 
respond promptly to our treatment. However, she 
will need the best of care ; but your mother-heart 
will prompt you in this matter. She must have medi- 
cine every half-hour until we have her temperature 
under control. I will see her again late to-night 
or early to-morrow morning.” Then he gave definite 
directions regarding the several remedies that he left, 
and bade Mrs. Graham and Gertrude a cordial good- 
evening, saying to the latter pleasantly : “It would 
be well for my reputation as a physician, and de- 
cidedly fortunate for my patients,^ if they all could 
have two such nurses as little Mary is now favored 
with.” 

“Why, Dr. Dunbarr, you ascribe to me an honor 
which I do not merit. Your patients would all die, 
4 49 


so As They Did It 

I fear, in spite of you, were I installed as their nurse. 
I have failed in nursing my sick birds arid other pets, 
and have had need to employ professionals. You 
would be sadly disappointed, should you expect good 
results from my nursing.'’ 

am sure,” replied Dunbarr, ^'that your presence 
and true sympathy are a source of strength to Mrs. 
Graham ; and if she, as principal nurse, can be cheer- 
ful and hopeful for a few days, I am confident that 
my little patient will be well on her way to con- 
valescing.” 

Although Gertrude’s call upon Mrs. Graham was 
very different from what she had anticipated, yet 
the result of it was to inspire a deep and mutual 
interest and to mark the beginning of a true friend- 
ship. The widow felt that a pure and true young life, 
although it had been trained in a higher social sphere 
than her own, had been brought quite near to her 
by the power of human sympathy, and she felt a 
hope that something good might come of such a 
meeting; yet she could not remember that any word 
had been spoken to warrant such a hope. 

It was nearly five o’clock when Gertrude left 
Mrs. Graham, and she concluded that, rather than 
walk home alone in the twilight, she would go to 
her father’s office, which was only two blocks out 
of her way, and walk home with him. She found him 
busy at his desk ; but he laid down his pen and came 
a step or two to meet her, and asked rather nervously, 
^^Anything out of the usual happened, Gertrude?” 
For it must be acknowledged that his daughter did 
not frequent her father’s office. 

She answered: no, papa. I was belated in 


True Effort 


51 


my calling, and have come to escort you home. I 
can wait till you are all through for the day. I will 
come up to your desk and see you work, if that 
will not disturb you.’’ And soon she stood by his 
side, looking over his arm as he continued to in- 
spect his journal. '‘Is this your part of the work, 
papa ?” 

"This is one part of my work.” 

"But you did not make all these entries, for this 
is not your handwriting. Who keeps this book, and 
what have you to do with it, and what does it all 
signify to you?” 

"No, I do not keep the books of the factory. 
Mr. Osborn is our general book-keeper. But we have 
several clerks under him who keep the accounts of 
their own departments of Avork, and report to him 
daily. My part with the books is carefully to in- 
spect the book-keeping. This book, if kept accu- 
rately, expresses the true condition of our business. 
I can look upon this as upon a chart and determine 
the amount and cost of the material that we pur- 
chase, the quantity and price and profits of our sales, 
the amount of wages paid to our employees, and 
the current expenses of the enterprise. It is very 
important that I know whether we are doing busi- 
ness at a loss or a profit.” 

"I perceive that, and it is therefore very important 
that the books be kept correctly. Does this com- 
prise all your work?” 

"O no ; there is a mind required, back of this 
enterprise, to plan the work and to direct it; and I 
think you know that your father has no partner in 
business.” 


52 


As They Did It 


''How many men have you employed 

"We have one hundred and twenty this month/’ 

"And so, virtually, all this machinery is running 
and all these men are tramping through your dear 
head. Well, I might have understood those white 
hairs” — and she placed her white and shapely hand 
upon her father’s head — "and I might have inter- 
preted the expression of care which I have so often 
seen upon your brow, had I been a more inquiring 
and thoughtful daughter. But, papa, are you not, 
in part, to be blamed? You never told me any of 
your business cares.” 

"Why, Gertrude, there is no cause for blame any- 
where, is there ? It is my part to look after our busi- 
ness matters, and I have no right to burden you, 
making you old before your time with my cares.” 

"And so you have thought it best for me to 
grow up as thoughtless as a butterfly, with no cares 
but those which naturally come with my lessons and 
recreations and with society. It would seem disre- 
spectful in me to question the kindness and correct- 
ness of such a course; but, papa, am I not almost 
grown up ?” 

"I am compelled to acknowledge that you have 
grown to woman’s estate ; but I like to think of you 
as my little Gertie.” 

"Well, then, papa, I have one favor to ask of 
you, and I fear to ask it because I know that you 
are so averse to a partner in business ; but will you 
take me into partnership? Do not begin to wonder 
what I can do, please — do n’t wonder about any- 
thing — but just try me, and I will be more than ever 
your own Gertie,” 


True Effort 


S3 


Her father smiled at her eager earnestness as he 
replied, ^‘You are the only person that I would con- 
sent to take as a business partner, and I must think 
of the proposition for a few days before I will sign 
articles of partnership with you.” 

‘'O, I see; you think that because I have done 
nothing but hinder you since I came into the office, 
I will continue such a course ; but you are wrong in 
that conclusion. You just take me on trial for a 
few months, and in that way prove me.” 

‘‘I assure you, Gertrude, that you have been far 
better than a hindrance. I have enjoyed your little 
visit more than I can tell you ; and I consent to take 
you on trial at once, and for as many months as 
you may designate. I had nearly completed my 
work for the day, and will soon be ready to accom- 
pany you home.” 

On the following morning, Mr. Bronson and Dr. 
Dunbarr met at the corner of Main and Bellevue 
Streets, and walked in company, eastward, for a 
block or two. As they were about to separate, Dun- 
barr asked, “You have about one hundred and twenty 
men in your employ at this time, Mr. Bronson?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“At what time or times do you pay them their 
wages ?” 

“The foundry hands and molders and some others 
we pay weekly and on Saturday night. Our other 
men we pay at the expiration of each month.” 

“I ask because it has seemed to me that it would 
be better for many a laborer if he could receive his 
wages upon Monday night instead of Saturday night. 
I presume, Mr. Bronson, that you are aware that 


54 


As They Did It 

the saloons, before Monday morning, get much of 
the money which is paid to the laboring man on 
Saturday night ; and would it not be just as con- 
venient for the employers of our city to pay their 
employees on Monday night?’' 

‘‘To be frank. Doctor, I have not thought 
seriously upon this matter. It may be that the busi- 
ness men of Warden have a duty in this direction. 
I will take the subject into consideration." 

“I am satisfied," said Dunbarr, “that the change 
would make some wholesome difference in the home 
of many an employee ; enough difference, I think, 
to warrant the change." At this they parted. 

The meeting which was appointed to be at the 
home of Mrs. Sawyer on Saturday afternoon was 
well attended. The novelty of the enterprise, to- 
gether with the Christlike spirit that seemed to 
prompt its origin, may have accounted for the inter- 
est taken. An hour passed while various ones re- 
cited the experience of visiting homes of strangers 
to impart some religious instruction or to convey 
some light of the love of Christ. These experiences 
would have interested us. That which was given by 
Miss Marian Mills may serve as an example. She 
said: 

“Among other homes we visited was that of Mrs. 
Campbell. Some of you may, and others of you may 
not, have met her. She is tall, with brown hair 
and dark eyes, and is less than thirty years old. She 
at first wondered at the object of our visit, and I 
felt embarrassed. I did not know just how to intro- 
duce our mission, but I began in the best way I 
knew. I told her of our Church home, and that 


True Effort 


55 


many of the women of our Church had come to feel 
that they ought and wanted to be better acquainted 
with the homes within our territory. I told her that 
the Master had helped and cheered us with his love ; 
and we thought, perchance, that we might lead others 
to a knowledge of this love, and might help them 
in other ways, if we only were acquainted, and that 
we wanted to express our willingness to cheer and 
brighten her life in any way we could. Before I 
had finished, she was weeping; and we wondered 
why. After a moment’s silence, she spoke, and the 
language that she used and her manner of expression 
surprised us, because these were not in character 
with a home so poor and destitute. She asked that 
we pardon her tears, for our kind hearts and words 
had awakened memories of brighter days. She, too, 
once had a Church home, and knew then something 
of the cheer and brightness of the love of Christ. 
But those bright days seemed hidden in a long ago, 
because so much of doubt and darkness and sin 
intervened. will not tell you much now,’ she said ; 
'but if we come to know each other better, I may 
tell you all. I may relate this much now : My child- 
hood home was humble, but it was pure. Its in- 
fluence has never been lost upon me, although I 
have proven untrue to it. In later years, in sadness 
and heartache, I have often longed for just such 
Christian fellowship as you intend.’ We promised 
to call upon her again soon ; and we desire to be- 
come well acquainted with her, for we trust that we 
may be some help to her, and we want to know her 
history. When she took our hand at parting, her 
large eyes portrayed an appreciative soul,” 


As They Did It 


56 


‘‘She is one of the lost ones that the Son of God 
came to seek and to save/’ remarked Mrs. Sawyer. 

“Have you any advice to give us ?” asked Miss 
Bronson. “You know that this is to be a consultation 
as well as an experience-meeting.” 

“What I have I will give with the greatest pleas- 
ure. Youah experiences have deeply interested me. 
You have been impressed with the scanty furnishings 
and the poverty of the homes that you have visited. 
Of course, you will have too good taste to embarrass 
these homes by taking youah finery into them. By the 
way, did we ever prayerfully ask ouahselves just how 
much finery a Christian woman should wear at any 
time? Youah neat, plain, sweet toilets will preach ser- 
mons in these homes, and will not embarass them. So 
will youah frank and unaffected mannah. A maga- 
zine or a choice book from youah libraries may be 
loaned, with profit, to some of these homes. Some of 
ouah Sunday-school supplies would benefit them. 
In time a mission-school should be organized.” 

“I think that our band should have a name,” re- 
marked Miss Mills. “I find it difficult to speak of 
ourselves to others. I like the name suggested by 
Miss Bronson, ‘Loyal Daughters.’ It seems quite 
expressive and also quite suggestive.” 

“That name pleases me also,” remarked Mrs. 
Burton; “and I think that its appropriateness will 
become more apparent as we proceed with our work. 
I move that we take that name for at least one month. 
At or after that time a more appropriate name may 
be suggested.” 

This motion was pleasing to all. After arranging 
some details of work, and unanimously agreeing to 


True Effort 


57 


accept Mrs. Sawyer’s invitation to meet at her home 
on the following Saturday afternoon, they adjourned 
for one week. But before they went out they asked 
Mrs. Sawyer to lead them in prayer. 

This prayer was a simple expression of a full and 
loving heart ; telling the Master of this new work 
that they had begun in his name ; asking that zeal and 
wisdom might be imparted to those who had under- 
taken this mission of love, and imploring special favor 
upon those toward whom these Christlike efYorts 
were directed. She closed her prayer with thanks- 
giving to God that the children of earth might be co- 
laborers with Christ in the salvation of sinful man. 

On leaving Mrs. Sawyer’s home, Marian Mills, 
Mrs. Burton, and Mrs. Stevens walked a block to- 
gether. This last-named lady did not consider her- 
self a member of the company called the 'Xoyal 
Daughters,” but she had been present at their meet- 
ing this afternoon. It may be that her curious mind 
led her there; or it may be that she just happened 
to call at that time ; for she was wont to call fre- 
quently at the home of Mrs. Sawyer. During the 
meeting she had observed a respectful silence. But 
now that she was alone with these two friends, she 
felt at liberty to give expression to her convictions, 
and she did so, as follows : 

'T fear that you do not apprehend how far this 
digression from the established customs of the best 
society may lead you. Such a course, if persisted in, 
will inevitably do away with many of the sets or 
grades of society. The rich and the poor, the cul- 
tured and the illiterate, the refined and the vulgar, 
will mingle on common social grounds. And these 


As They Did It 


S8 

common people, who can not appreciate our society 
and are too poor to pay for a sitting in our church 
will, more than likely, find their way into our church 
services, and will expect us to welcome them there. 
I tell you, my friends, I can not anticipate such a 
condition of things with any degree of approval, 
much less with pleasure. You ought to have con- 
sidered this matter more seriously before under- 
taking it.’' 

do not see this undertaking in the same light 
that you do, Mrs. Stevens,” replied Miss Mills. ‘'I 
confess that I have not anticipated very far. About 
as far as I have gone is to entertain the hope of 
doing some real good in the name of our Master. 
I am sure that these homes are destitute of religious 
and wholesome social privileges. I think that I can 
see how we can relieve, in some degree, this desti- 
tution. And to do what we can in this direction 
seems to be like our Master. Did he not come to 
seek and to save that which was lost? I am sure 
that we all will think of this matter more profoundly 
as the work develops ; and I trust that the Infinite 
Mind may direct us. I must leave you now. Good- 
bye.” 

Mrs. Stevens’s mind was not at rest, and the re- 
sult of the meeting did not conduce to her peace. 

At seven o’clock on Saturday night, Dunbarr vis- 
ited Mary Graham. He found the child’s condition 
but slightly improved ; for her case was a more stub- 
born one than he had anticipated. As he was return- 
ing rather leisurely, he met Dr. Burns. They greeted 
each other cordially, and each inquired after the 
other’s welfare. Dunbarr replied that he felt some- 


True Effort 


S9 


what depressed and quite weary ; that the work of the 
week had taxed him unusually. '‘But/’ said he, "I 
have seen all of my patients and may rest now, unless 
something new develops.” 

Dr. Burns stated that he had his sermons well in 
mind, and intended to have leisure until Sunday 
morning, and invited Dunbarr to walk with him for 
a time. 

It was not uncomfortably cold, but the sky was 
thickly overcast, and the moaning of the northeast 
wind betokened a storm. As they walked to and fro 
upon the principal streets of the city, they met with 
that which, quite naturally, introduced the subject of 
drunkenness and the power of the saloon. 

"Dr. Burns,” remarked Dunbarr, "I wish that 
you would, at you earliest convenience, give us a 
discourse on temperance.” 

"I have contemplated such a discourse. The sub- 
ject has been in my mind for some time, and I have 
been studying a new movement and some new meth- 
ods in temperance work. How would one week from 
to-morrow night do for a date ?” 

"That date would please me, but I would not 
hasten you. However, I feel that our efforts should 
be prompt and frequent in this matter. I am in a 
position to see much of the curse of intemperance 
and of the ruinous work of the saloon. There are 
scores of men in the saloons of our city to-night that 
are squandering in a damnable way the wages they 
have earned this week, while their families are in 
destitute circumstances ; and, also, there are many 
men of good standing in society — men of leisure and 
means — who may be found in the saloons of Warden 


6o 


As They Did It 


to-night. You would be surprised were you to look 
in upon the saloon.’’ 

‘'Of course, I am not fully aware of what is going 
on inside; neither do I know whom I should find 
there. ,But, Dunbarr, what you have said has ex- 
cited my curiosity. Can you give any good reason 
why a minister of the gospel, in company with a re- 
liable friend and for the sake of being better able to 
teach his people, may not visit the saloon? If you 
can not, I shall invite you to accompany me into 
these drinking-places now.” 

“I have no such good reason to give, and I ex- 
press my willingness to accompany you.” 

As they were approaching the most respectable 
saloon in the city, the first one they entered. Dr. 
Burns remarked : 

“Dunbarr, I feel something of the fearful dread 
that I experienced when, as a very young man, I rode 
with my fellow-cavalrymen into my first engagement 
against the enemies of our country.” 

They remained but a short time in any saloon, 
and they did not enter into conversation. While 
their presence attracted attention, there was little or 
no comment. In the gilded and more fashionable 
saloons they found men to whom society accredits a 
better character. Not a few of these recognized these 
unaccustomed visitors, and blushed or skulked away 
for shame. In the common saloons they found the 
more common people and the rabble, among whom 
there were not a few boys and young men under 
twenty-one years of age. 

In the eastern part of the city, as they entered 
a saloon, Dunbarr placed his hand on Dr. Burns’s 


True Effort 


6i 


arm, and directed his attention to the row of five men 
lined up at the bar. The bartender, who was the 
proprietor of the place, was filling five glasses with 
liquor. The men waited until each glass was filled, 
then slowly lifted them towards their lips, while they 
bowed to one another. At this moment, Dunbarr 
noiselessly sprang to the side of the man who stood 
nearest him, placed his right hand upon his shoulder 
and at the same time took the glass of liquor with 
his left hand, while he spoke in a stern voice, ‘‘Tom 
Wilson, do you think that you are treating me as you 
should treat a true friend?'' 

Wilson was greatly surprised, but he answered 
promptly: “Sure, an' Oi 've not thrated yez at all, at 
all. Oi did not know that yez war here." 

While he spoke, Dunbarr deliberately tasted of 
the liquor and set the glass upon the counter. At 
this Wilson said : “Oi 'll have Mr. Wilkes turn a glass 
fur yez, at me expense, if yez loike." 

Dunbarr’s only reply was : “Tom, were you treat- 
ing these four men who are standing here with us ?" 

“Yis Oi war, sure ; its a liberal mon that Oi 

am. 

“Well, Tom, will you pay for this liquor and then 
come out with me?" 

“Sure an' Oi 'll pay fur it ; but Oi 'll dhrink wid 
the b’ys first." 

“I wish you would not drink that, Tom ; I want 
you to come with me before you drink it." 

“But sure, an' Oi kin coom wid yez the bether 
afther Oi 've dhrank it." And he turned down the 
liquor and paid for five drinks. “Now, Dr. Dunbarr," 
continued Wilson, “Oi'd the rither stay wid the b'ys 


62 


As They Did It 


the bit, till Oi gits what ’s comin^ to me ; they owes 
me four dhrinks, yez see/^ 

‘^But Wilson, I want you to come with me this 
very minute. I have a right to insist upon this. You 
remember how you have asked me to do all I can to 
help you to reform, and that I have bound myself to 
do so.’’ 

Job Wilkes, the saloon-keeper, had suspected 
Dunbarr from the first ; and now he broke forth in an 
angry tirade, in part as follows : 

“You ’ll take your hand off my customer. I ’m 
here to protect him. You ’ll take your leave of my 
place of business from the same door you came in 
at, an’ I ’ll give you but a minute to go. I am doin’ 
a lawful business here, an’ I pay my money for a 
license to do it. You go, sir, or I ’ll help you to.” 
And he shook his burly fist. 

At this. Dr. Burns stepped to Dunbarr ’s side, and 
his gray eyes flashed fire as he looked Wilke’s fully 
in the face. 

“Yez shtrike him. Job Wilkes,” said Wilson, “an’ 
yez are hittin’ Tom Wilson plumb in the face ; for 
he ’s me confidential friend.” 

Dunbarr smiled at Tom’s remark, and then with 
an eye so utterly fearless as to make Wilkes quail, 
he addressed him as follows : 

“You hold your temper and your tongue. I un- 
derstand what I am doing. Thomas Wilson is a 
friend of mine, and I have a right to speak to him 
as I have done. And permit me to inform you that 
you are not doing a legitimate business. The law 
of this State expressly says that you shall not sell 
intoxicating drinks to an habitual drunkard. You 


True Effort 


63 


have broken that law in my presence to-night. I 
have proof that my friend Wilson here” — putting his 
hand on Tom’s shoulder — ‘^is an habitual drunkard. 
I saw you sell him liquor. I saw him pay for it. I 
know that it was liquor for I tasted it from the very 
glass from which he drank. I have a clear case 
against you, and you will hear from it.” Then turn- 
ing to Tom, he took his arm and said: ‘‘Now, my 
friend, I want you to go with me ;” and they went 
out together and Dr. Burns followed them. 


CHAPTER V 


Open Fields 


*‘Let no man seek his own, but each his neighbor’s good.’ 

HE three walked rapidly away from the saloon, 



^ and did not speak until they had gone a half- 
block, and had reached the corner where Dunbarr 
and Dr. Burns must part company, if each would go 
directly to his home. Here they halted a moment, 
and Dunbarr remarked: 

“Dr. Burns, here you and I will part for the night. 
I am glad to have had your company ; and,” he added, 
smiling, “if I have led you into objectionable places, 
please remember that I did so in compliance with 
your own proposition. It is beginning to storm, and 
you need the shelter of your home.” 

“I would walk with you farther, if it seemed neces- 
sary, but you and Mr. Wilson will get on well to- 
gether, I trust. I did not anticipate the result of our 
walk when I proposed it ; but I regret neither the 
walk nor its result. I am more than ever obliged 
to you. Dr. Dunbarr;” and he extended his hand. 
Then turning to Tom, he said: “I am glad to have 
met you also, Mr. Wilson; and I shall put forth an 
effort to meet you again.” 

“Yis, but yer Riverence, yez had the rither not 
ha’ met me in the s’loon. An’ Oi ha’ the rither not 
ha’ met yez there, too.” 


64 


Open Fields 


65 


‘‘Well/^ Dr. Burns replied, ''we need never meet 
there again, but may meet elsewhere often and 
they shook hands as old-time friends might do. 

When Dunbarr and Wilson were alone, the latter 
began, abruptly: 

"What do yez want o' me an' where do yez intend 
to lade me? Oi coom oot o' the s'loon wid yez be- 
cause Oi war yer friend an' the s'loon moight injure 
yer character an' Oi 'd the rither see yez in yer office 
or a side o' soom sick or dyin' mon, loike as poor 
George Graham, than in the s'loon. It 's a bad place 
fur sich the loike as yez to be in. But, och ! how 
cold the wind blows ag'in' me, an' the storrum 
stroikes clane into me very vitals and he shrugged 
his shoulders and his body quaked so that Dr. Dun- 
barr felt the flesh of his arm tremble. 

"Oi must go somewhere soon now or Oi 'll fraze ; 
and me head fales quare loike, too." 

"I fear that you are ill, Wilson, and, as we are 
nearer your home than to my office, I think that we 
had better go there." 

To this proposition Wilson offered but slight ob- 
jection. That he had been taken suddenly ill became 
evident as they advanced toward his home. That 
which seemed to be the effect of the cold wind and 
of the storm proved to be a violent chill. 

They found Mrs. Wilson and her family more com- 
fortable than was usual of a Saturday night ; for Tom 
had been true to his promise, and had given his wife 
five dollars of his week's wages. The room was warm 
and quite well lighted. The younger children had 
retired ; Willie was reading from a paper which a 
stranger had left at the house, and his mother was 
5 


66 


As They Did It 


mending a child’s garment when Wilson and Dun- 
barr entered. Their coming was unannounced, save 
by their footsteps at the door. Wilson went directly 
to the fire, literally dropped into a chair and almost 
embraced the stove, while his whole body seemed con- 
vulsed. Willie arose and offered Dunbarr a chair, 
and then sat in a corner away from the light. Mrs. 
Wilson’s hands lay motionless in her lap, but her 
eyes seemed fixed upon her work. Wilson broke the 
silence by saying : 

‘Wez nade not think that Oi am dhrunk agin’, 
an’ fale so shamed ; fur Oi ’m not ; but Oi ’m woors. 
Oi ’m so orful cold that Oi kint git warrum an’ me 
head falls to rememberin’ manny ’s the thing that 
slips away as a drame, loike. An’ Oi fale sick an’ 
faint widin ; an’ me chist sames bound aboot wid 
manny ’s the cord. An’ Dr. Dunbarr, me friend, has 
coom to consult me — good mon that he is — an’ yez ’ll 
stand to his aid that he may cure me.” 

‘‘Yes,” said Dunbarr, “Mr. Wilson seems quite 
sick, and we will see what we can do for him and 
he began a thorough examination. 

As a black and threatening storm-cloud passes, 
unbroken, over our heads, and leaves above us a 
cloud which is lighter and less threatening, so seemed 
now the experience of Mrs. Wilson and her son. 
They, evidently, were not in sympathy with Wilson’s 
belief, that to be sick is, necessarily, worse than to 
be drunk ; for their sullen chagrin disappeared, and 
they manifested a genuine and almost cheerful in- 
terest. 

Wilson’s temperature began to rise rapidly, and 
soon he was unable to sit up. 


Open Fields 


67 


‘‘I have not here all the medicine that I desire 
to leave for your husband, Mrs. Wilson, and I will 
need to go to my office.” 

^'Oor Willie, hare, kin go wid ye' an’ fitch it back, 
so ye will not nade to coom back through the 
storrum.” 

‘‘I would not feel justified in asking so frail a lad 
as Willie to go out into such a stormy night,” said 
Dunbarr. “I am used to all kinds of weather.” 

“Willie is stouter nor he looks,” was Mrs. Wil- 
son’s reply, “an’ he ’s a willin b’y, an’ flate, sure. 
Jist ye tell me an’ him how ye wants the medicine to 
be took, an’ when he gits it from ye he ’ll be back 
here, ag’in’ a short toime has passed.” 

And so it was decided. Mrs. Wilson understood 
how often the medicine must be given ; and Dunbarr 
informed her that her husband would be delirious at 
times in the night, instructed her how to treat him at 
such times, and agreed to see him early in the morn- 
ing. 

“We kin keer fur him, Docthor, an’ we' ’ll be glad 
to have him wid us an’ to do fur him. An’ we will 
be lookin’ fur ye a’gin’ the morning’ cooms airly. An’ 
a good-noight to ye,” were Mrs. Wilson’s words as 
Dunbarr was leaving. 

The boy was ready, waiting at the door for the 
doctor, and he preceded him out into the night. The 
fast-falling snow and sleet made the walking difficult, 
but Dunbarr found his slender companion an expert 
pedestrian, and was compelled to quicken his usual 
speed to keep up with the boy. At the office he was 
surprised and pleased to see how readily Willie read, 
at the doctor’s request, the carefully-written direc- 


68 


As They Did It 


tions for giving the medicine. He left the room 
promptly, but said at going, “Good-night, Doctor;’’ 
and Dunbarr remarked, as he turned from the door 
to his desk, “He is a noble little fellow, if he is a 
drunkard’s son.” 

When the morning came the storm had passed, 
and the quiet which followed it seemed responsible 
for the listless spirit of Warden. Her citizens slept 
late, and, after rising, were possessed of a spirit of 
calm indifference. Only the men-of-all-work were 
alert. The storm had provided employment for them, 
even of a Sunday morning; and many of them re- 
joiced in the prospect of increased revenue, as they 
vigorously shoveled the snow from the walks and 
crossings. 

Dunbarr found Wilson delirious, and with temper- 
ature at a threatening height. 

Dr. Burns met his people with his usual scholarly 
and spiritual ministry. He announced, with some 
emphasis, that on the following Sunday night he 
would address his audience on the subject of tem- 
perance. He stated that he had a new experience 
to relate, some new methods to discuss, and some 
new plans to propose. He desired that a large audi- 
ence should gather for that occasion. 

At the close of evening service, in an after-meet- 
ing, which was largely attended, it was decided to 
hold but two meetings in the coming week — one on 
Tuesday night, and one on Thursday night. 

These two week-night meetings were signalized 
by the spirit of practical and aggressive Christianity. 
We will review their proceedings in a subsequent 
chapter. 


Open Fields 69 

On Tuesday morning Job Wilkes was arraigned 
before Justice Eliott to answer to the charge of sell- 
ing intoxicating beverage to an habitual drunkard. 
Wilkes had anticipated this. He waived examina- 
tion, and promptly gave bonds to appear for trial in 
the February term of the Circuit Court. 

Twice in this week, Gertrude Bronson visited 
Mrs. Graham. Her interest in little Mary was genu- 
ine; and when the child began to convalesce, Ger- 
trude’s pleasure was only surpassed by that of Mary’s 
mother. 

Mrs. Graham talked freely with Gertrude con- 
cerning the sudden death of Mr. Graham and of her 
great sorrow; and Gertrude tried to comfort her 
with thoughts of the great love of the Heavenly 
Father, and of a bright hereafter, and of a happy re- 
union of loved ones; but she felt that her effort 
availed nothing, and she expressed her thoughts to 
that effect in the following few sentences, as she 
walked leisurely home on W ednesday afternoon : 
^‘How utterly unable I am to convey Christian com- 
fort ! I have, for five years, professed to be a servant 
of Christ, and yet I can not teach a sorrowing widow 
the Christian’s way to triumph over life’s sorrows. 
But my Master knows that I love him and desire to 
be able to serve him ;” and her eyes, for the moment, 
filled with humble tears. 

At about this time Mrs. Graham was occupied 
in the following soliloquy : “What a dear young 
woman Miss Bronson is ! I do not know much about 
a Christian life, but she is so kind and loving that 
she seems to be somewhat like the Christ that I have 
read and heard about. Her words are so good, and 


70 


As They Did It 

there is something back of them that seems better 
to me that what she says.’’ 

At the meeting of the Loyal Daughters at Mrs. 
Sawyer’s on Saturday afternoon, a number of inter- 
esting visits were reported; and the work that they 
had undertaken assumed an encouraging aspect. 
One sentence in Mrs. Sawyer's prayer in this meet- 
ing was expressive of a common feeling : Lord, 

we feel that thou hast opened to us a field of beautiful 
service, and we trust thee foah a rich harvest.” 

The home of Thomas Wilson was the battle- 
ground where nature and professional skill waged a 
stubborn warfare against acute disease, with at first 
but little hope of victory ; but at the close of the week 
the sick man’s condition was somewhat improved. 

The audience that gathered at the First Church 
of Warden on Sunday night was unusually large. 
This may have been due to the fact that it had be- 
come known that Dr. Burns had recently visited 
many of the saloons of the city. A male quartet led 
a short song service. The doctor’s opening prayer 
was simple but fervent. He took no text, but began 
his address by remarking that temperance addresses 
were held by the average mind to be platitudes — 
dull, insipid. 

‘‘This,” said he, “may be due to the fact that the 
average mind wearies with the repetition of figures 
and statistics, no matter how vital and true these fig- 
ures and statistics may be. But the people must bear 
in mind that the true worth of a discourse is in pro- 
portion to its instructiveness; and that, to speak 
instructively, one must impress the mind with facts 
germane to his subject, even though these facts are 


Open Fields 


71 


couched in figures and dry statistics. While the sub- 
ject of intemperance is as old as the history of Noah, 
yet in its final analysis it contains but three operative 
facts : alcohol, appetite, and the union of alcohol and 
appetite. Alcohol, aloof from appetite, would do no 
widespread work of ruin. Appetite, natural or ac- 
quired, could not produce the inebriate without al- 
cohol. But when these two simple facts are brought 
together, a third and a serious fact is caused to exist. 
Later in the history of intemperance appears a potent, 
co-ordinate fact. It is traffic in beverage which con- 
tains alcohol. It is simply greed for gold. The result 
of the practical operation of this factor in intemper- 
ance is the union, the frequent and continuous coming 
together, of alcohol and appetite. The more frequent 
and continuous and general this union, the greater 
the aggregated gain to him who sells such beverage, 
and the greater the expense to the country at large. 
Statistics show that, aside from desolating war, no 
sin costs so much as that of intemperance. The 
criminal expenses of a county have been made ten 
thousand dollars greater by the debasing effect of 
one pint of alcoholic drink, which, taken into his sys- 
tem, has made a man a temporary fiend. This great 
Nation of seventy million people pays annually for 
the education of the public $2.40 for each of her 
inhabitants ; while at the same time we pay six times 
as much, or $14.80, for each inhabitant, for intoxi- 
cating beverage. They who engage in such a traffic 
do so for one object — the cash profits of the enter- 
prise. They understand that their occupation does 
not conduce to their own popularity. Many of them 
know that what they sell is, in its very nature, de- 


72 


As They Did It 


structive to social and industrial interests, and will 
accomplish the certain ruin of both soul and body of 
the consumer ; and yet the open saloon, with its many 
hundred of miles of the best of frontage, is a con- 
spicuous object in our great Nation. We have in our 
own dear State, if we allow twenty-five feet front to 
each saloon, more than twenty-one miles of solid 
saloon frontage. We have in our own city at least 
fifteen saloons. But these places, whose sole busi- 
ness it is to retail liquid degradation and ruin, have 
a legal right to be here and to do business. That 
is, the law, with certain specified conditions and re- 
strictions, permits and protects the open saloon. 
Many of the truly temperance people of the land 
shudder and are dismayed at the thought of such a 
law. But, my dear friends, I am persuaded that there 
is something better for truly temperance people to 
do than to shudder and sit down in dismay. That we 
may be more explicit, we' will suggest a reasonable 
and practical course for our temperance people to 
pursue. 

‘'First, all temperance people should become con- 
versant with our so-called temperance laws — should 
understand their provisions, restrictions, and penal- 
ties. I am persuaded that if all friends of temperance 
would become familiar with these laws, they would 
esteem them more highly than they do. I am also 
persuaded that if these laws were fully enforced, a 
majority of the saloons would be driven out of the 
land. Look at some of the provisions of these laws : 
The saloon may not sell nor furnish intoxicating 
drink to a minor nor to an habitual drunkard. It 
may not sell nor furnish intoxicating beverage on the 


Open Fields 


73 


first day of the week, commonly called Sunday, nor 
on legal holidays, nor on election days, nor earlier 
than a specified hour in the morning, nor later than 
a specified hour at night. To sell liquor, subject to 
these and other specified restrictions, each saloon 
must pay annually a stipulated sum of money. In 
our State this sum is $500 'spot cash.’ To secure the 
public, each saloon must give a bond of not less than 
$3,000 and not more than $6,000, with two respon- 
sible bondsmen. These bondsmen must reside in the 
town, village, or city wherein the saloon for which 
they are sureties is situated. But it is evident to the 
casual observer that these laws are not even fairly 
well enforced in our city ; for if they were, so many 
saloons could not exist. And when one looks in upon 
our saloons he is astonished at their positive disre- 
gard for the provisions of the law. When I an- 
nounced this service, I intimated that I had had a 
new experience in temperance work. I had in mind 
the fact that I, in company with a trustworthy friend, 
one week ago last night visited many of the saloons 
of Warden, went into them, and beheld how and with 
what they do business.” ■ 

Dr. Burns then related, graphically, what he saw 
in these saloons, but did not mention names. He 
stated that in nearly every saloon he found young 
men under twenty-one years of age, and it was evi- 
dent that they were there for the drink that is sold 
there. He remarked that a large majority of the 
multitude found in the saloon that night were evi- 
dently habitual drunkards. Said he: 

"At one bar I saw five men at one time drinking, 
as they would say, to the health of one another ; and 


74 As They Did It 

it can be proven that each of these men is an habitual 
drunkard/’ 

Dr. Burns did not neglect to state that he found in 
the saloons of Warden men who are held to be of 
higher character than the saloon and the saloon as- 
sociations would warrant. 

second practical suggestion is the unification 
of all temperance sentiment. Temperance people are 
not sufficiently united in their efforts. The temper- 
ance forces are scattered, and are, therefore, more 
easily overcome. There are causes for this lack of 
union. One chief cause is that we can not get just 
such temperance laws as we feel should be enacted. 
But it is unwise and wrong to make use of nothing, 
because we can not get just what we think should be 
granted us. As we have seen, we can bring about a 
great reformation by the wise enforcement of such 
laws as we now have ; and when we make a wise use 
of all the good we have, God will help us to some- 
thing better. 

“My third suggestion is, that the Church of Christ 
should take the cause of temperance to heart. I 
would not intimate that Christian people are not 
temperance people, but I would teach that temper- 
ance work should become a specific part and an ac- 
knowledged important part of Church work. Sup- 
pose that the millions in our country who are known 
as the followers of the Christ were united in a tem- 
perance effort. Suppose that the hundreds of Chris- 
tians in our city were united to promote the cause of 
temperance, — would there not be a temperance refor- 
mation ? 

“The new methods that I have thought to intro- 


open Fields 


75 


duce to-night are those adopted by a new temperance 
organization known as the Anti-saloon League. This 
organization is but a few years old, yet the results of 
its operations are causing widespread discomfort 
among the liquor-dealers in the land, and the number 
of saloons has been made perceptibly less through 
its direct influence. It seeks to bring together, in 
a united effort, all who in any degree favor the sup- 
pression of the open saloon and the sale of alcoholic 
beverage. It is therefore omni- partis an, enlisting 
members regardless of their political preferences. It 
is also interdenominational. All Protestant denomina- 
tions and the Catholic and the Jew are engaged in 
the good work. Its machinery is not very complex. 
The League consists of National, State, and local 
organizations. 

“Local organizations do their aggressive work 
through various committees or departments ; such 
as the Agitation Department, the Law-enforcement 
Department, and the Legislation Department. The 
province of the Agitation Department is to keep be- 
fore the public mind the moral issues of the com- 
munity. The press and the pulpit and the schools 
are made use of by this department of the League. 

“The Law-enforcement Department seeks, by 
various means, to know whether the laws are being 
enforced. While this department directs its atten- 
tion towards the saloon principally, yet it is its duty 
to determine whether the law relating to drugstores 
and gambling and immoral places is properly ob- 
served. This department accomplishes its object by 
compelling the regularly chosen or appointed and 
oath-bound officers to do their duty. If these officers 


y6 As They Did It 

will not keep their oath of office, then impeachment 
may follow. 

‘‘The Legislation Department accomplishes its 
local duty by placing in nomination, and, as far as 
possible, securing the election of, competent men for 
municipal officers. The work of this department in 
the State is to secure the election of men who will 
favor temperance and temperance legislation. In 
cities the cause of temperance is being advanced by 
Church Anti-saloon Leagues ; and at seven o'clock 
to-morrow night I wish to meet in the lecture-room 
of the church all who wish to consider the advisability 
of organizing such a League for this Church." 

The doctor closed his address by saying: “I trust 
that this new temperance movement is ordained of 
God to bring about a great revolution for righteous- 
ness. Is not God's hand in this movement pointing 
out an opportunity for every one to engage himself 
in the behalf of fellow-man? Do we not hear God's 
voice saying, ‘Go work in my vineyard?' May we 
have help from him to respond willingly!" 

At ten o'clock, Monday forenoon, Dunbarr called 
at the office of Mr. Bronson. He was somewhat sur- 
prised to find his daughter at the desk with her 
father. After a cordial “good-morning," Gertrude 
asked, “Have you learned, Dr. Dunbarr, that papa 
had taken a partner in business?" ' 

“I had not. Miss Bronson ; but I think that I 
perceive his choice, and I congratulate him." 

“But I am not sure how he will take your con- 
gratulations," returned Gertrude, looking roguishly 
towards her father; “for he has only taken me on 
trial." 


Open Fields 


77 


Dunbarr smiled and said, think that I can fore- 
see the result of the trial/’ And then turning to Mr. 
Bronson he remarked: ‘'I stepped in to ask you if 
you could use, to any advantage, Willie Wilson, a 
rather slender boy, about fourteen years old. His 
father will not be able to resume work for a fort- 
night or more, and the family is becoming destitute.” 

had thought of Wilson and his family. We 
will see what use we can make of the boy ; will we 
not, Gertrude?” replied Mr. Bronson, smiling upon 
his daughter. 

''Thank you. Willie’s case is safe in the hands 
of such a firm. I must go now;” and he bowed to 
each of them, and went out. 


CHAPTER VI 


Unto Him 

‘‘Do all to the glory of God.*^ 

TN the preceding chapter reference was made to 
^ the meetings held by the First Church of Warden 
on Tuesday and Thursday nights of the third week 
of January, as being signalized by a spirit of prac- 
tical and aggressive Christianity. In them a review 
of the extra meetings of this new year was taken, 
and a summary of the different features of these 
meetings was given. Many embraced the oppor- 
tunity to speak of a new-found hope in Christ, of a 
deeper religious experience, and of a firm resolve 
to do faithful service in the kingdom of the Master. 
It was evident that the record of these few meetings 
would become a bright portion of the history of this 
Church. All seemed to appreciate the fact that this 
had been a special season of Divine favor, and no 
one was more fully aware of its importance than 
Dr. Burns. 

‘'We have,” said he, “gathered a blessed spiritual 
momentum ; and the question is, What will we per- 
mit this momentum to do for us? Are we closing 
these extra meetings to permit our minds and 
energies to divert to matters less spiritual and to 

78 


Unto Him 


79 


ways less Christlike ? There have come to us revela- 
tions concerning religious opportunity and Chris- 
tian privilege; and with these has come an inspira- 
tion, and our hearts have said, ‘Thy will, O Lord, 
is my supreme delight/ To consider this a period 
of ‘closing,’ would be to mistake the voice of God, 
which voice has sounded forth in the graceful events 
of the last fortnight ; would be, not to take this spirit- 
ual tide at its flood. Instead, this must be the period 
of beginning, the genesis of a re-enforced and quick- 
ened Church in aggressive religious endeavor. There 
are new ways open to us. The call that comes to 
us seems to designate our future course in the fol- 
lowing mandate, ‘Keep thyself in vital communica- 
tion with the great Head of the Church by the go- 
ing forth of all thy redeemed and sanctified powers 
to save those that are being ingulfed in sin.’ What 
justifiable reason can be produced to show why this 
room shall not be filled, each Tuesday night and 
Thursday night of the remaining weeks of the year, 
with spiritually-minded men and women, seeking 
counsel of Christ and of one another? Why need 
our religious enthusiasm wane? Let us believe that 
it will not. I have mistaken the scope of our con- 
secration, if it has not embraced our time and our 
means. Already, within the last ten days, from those 
of our number, has been formed a little band for 
a purpose which is noble and Christlike. This band, 
which has been called the Loyal Daughters, has 
already begun a beautiful work, true to the Spirit 
that has been leading us. There are other new en- 
terprises into which we may enter with reasonable 
hope of profit to our Master’s kingdom. I will not 


8o 


As They Did It 


suggest them just now, for it may be that your own 
active minds and loving hearts have something to 
suggest. We will gladly listen to you.’’ 

Mr. Bronson followed Dr. Burns. He spoke of 
personal benefits realized from the meetings. He 
felt that the Church would prove itself untrue to 
the Spirit that had led it, and unworthy of the spirit- 
ual favors conferred upon it, if it did not go forth, 
and right on, to achieve for Christ. He felt that 
some special effort should be put forth for the com- 
mon people, the laboring classes — such as the mill 
and factory hands. ''These,” said he, "need to have 
awakened within them an interest for eternal things. 
They greatly need the cheer and inspiration and the 
regulating influences of the gospel.” 

Dunbarr felt that he would be presuming upon 
the kindness of the meeting if he, who was not a 
member of the Church, should speak ; and he told 
them so. "But,” said he, "few, if any, have been 
more interested in or more benefited by the extra 
meetings than I have been. And the thought of 
going forward, in the Spirit that has led us so far 
this year, to a practical demonstration of the genuine- 
ness of our religion meets with my hearty approval. 
I have often contrasted the Church with the world. 
The Church invites and allures but a few times each 
week, while the doors of the world are never closed, 
and the allurements of the world are as continuous 
as they are dazzling. The young, and especially the 
stranger in the city, are won to the world by its 
constant efforts to win. I have thought that, when 
the Church becomes as eager and as persistent to 


Unto Him 


8i 


win mankind as are the sinful forces of the world to 
win and to ruin them, there would be, annually, 
a greater number rescued from sin.’’ 

The prevailing desire to engage in some new re- 
ligious enterprise led to the appointment of a com- 
^ mittee of five which should introduce and recom- 
mend some new and worthy undertaking. Dr. 
Burns was chairman of this committee, and he re- 
ported something as follows: “Your committee rec- 
ognizes the fact that, already, the First Church of 
Warden is zealously operative along lines which are 
common to all such religious organizations, and have 
long been approved by man and honored of God; 
and we anticipate that all this usual work shall 
be continued with renewed energy and with loving 
zeal. We advise that any new endeavor that has 
been prompted by love of Christ and mankind may 
be approved by this Church, and may receive its 
support, so long as it shall be deemed advisable to 
continue such endeavor. This committee remarks 
that our house of worship is centrally located at the 
intersection of two of the principal streets of our 
city, and could, therefore, be made a convenient and 
attractive meeting-place any night of the week, 
should any part of it be fitted and opened for such 
a purpose. Therefore, we have been led to recom- 
mend the following enterprise; namely, that the re- 
ception and lecture rooms of the church be, at our 
earliest convenience, arranged for reading and en- 
tertainment rooms, and that they may be opened 
for such purposes each night of the week, except 
Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday nights. The ex- 
6 


82 


As They Did It 


pense need be but a trifle. A few round tables, and 
a supply of the best papers and magazines, and a few 
invitation cards, would be ail that is needed for a be- 
ginning. A short musical or literary program could 
be given occasionally; we have talent for these. 
From our many young men and women a small com- • 
pany could be detailed to superintend these rooms. 
The principal object of such an undertaking should 
be to call in and interest those who have not such 
advantages elsewhere, and those who, for want of 
some better place, are led to haunts which are ques- 
tionable and perverting.’’ 

The report of this committee was received with 
such general approval that the recommendation was 
adopted, and the same committee was asked to go 
forward and execute the plan which it had brought 
forth. This they consented to do ; and our interest 
will deepen as we witness the development. 

When Dunbarr left Mr. Bronson’s offlce, where 
he had called on Monday forenoon to ask work for 
Willie Wilson, Gertrude addressed her father as fol- 
lows, ‘Tapa, what work have you in or about the 
factory that a slender, fourteen-year-old boy can 
do?” 

‘^There are quantities of scrap-iron that he could 
handle, and he could wheel in coal, and the offlces 
of the different apartments he could attend upon; 
besides, he could do various errands.” 

“Then such a boy is really needed about the 
works ?” eagerly asked Gertrude. 

“That presents a different phase of the matter. 

I can not say that we really need such a boy. Doubt- 


Unto Him 


83 

less it would be more profitable for us to hire a 
strong man than a slender and inexperienced boy. 
But, as I have said, we can use such a boy, and, 
under the circumstances, we will give him a trial, if 
he appears at all capable.’’ 

“Well, then, papa, may I call at Mr. Wilson’s on 
my way home? And what shall I say?” 

“Yes, if you like; and, if you think that the boy 
seems capable, you may tell him to call at my office 
at one o’clock this afternoon.” 

“But, papa, about what wages can you pay him ?” 

“As to the matter of wages, since you have be- 
come a business partner, I will leave that to your 
judgment,” replied Mr. Bronson, smiling. 

Gertrude looked grave for a moment, and then, 
looking her father in the face, as a smile played 
through her dark eyes, she said, “We are partners, 
are n’t we, papa ?” Then she donned her wraps and 
went out to call upon the Wilsons, saying, merrily, 
as she left the office, “Good-bye, papa ; I ’ll go home 
after I have made our business call.” 

Before leaving his office for the forenoon, Mr. 
Bronson called Mr. Gray, his foreman, to his office 
and said to him: “A boy may call here at about 
one o’clock this afternoon to secure work. If so, 
you may put him to wheeling scrap-iron. Show him 
what constitutes a full load, and then order him not 
to attempt more than one-half such a load. If he 
should work well and be likely to become very weary, 
give him two or three light errands to do this after- 
noon.” 

When Gertrude was admitted to the home of 


84 As They Did It 

Thomas Wilson, she introduced herself, and, in stat- 
ing the object of her visit, said : 

^'We learn from your physician that Mr. Wilson 
will not be able to resume work for some time yet, 
and that you have a son, about fourteen years old, 
who might be able to do some work at the factory. 
I called to inquire about the matter, and I would 
like to see the boy. Is he at home?” 

‘‘He ^s jist oot on an errant fur me ; but it ’s nigh 
aboot toime fur him to coom back ; an’ it ’s a very 
prompt b’y that he is,” answered Mrs. Wilson. 

“Has he ever done any hard work?” 

“Yis, soom ; he poiles an’ lugs in wood fur folks 
when they ask him. An’ he whaled dirt an’ worruked 
in yards an’ gardens last summer, soom. He could 
git more worruk it he ’d sake it ; but he ’s shy loike.” 

At this Willie entered the room, and sat down 
quietly ; and Mrs. Wilson remarked, “Here he cooms 
in, now.” 

Gertrude introduced herself to him by saying: “I 
am Gertrude Bronson, daughter of the man for whom 
your father worked so long. And what is your 
given name?” 

“Willie Wilson, mom.” 

“That is quite a pretty name ; I like those W’s 
following each other as they do,” returned Gertrude. 
“I do not think that I have ever seen you before ; 
but I hope that we may become well acquainted. We 
have heard that you might desire to come to the 
factory and help to take your father’s place, while 
he is sick. If you would like to, my father said that 
you might come to his office at one o’clock this after- 
noon and find out about it.” 


Unto Him 


8S 


''I would like to work, mom, if there is anything 
for me to do. Dr. Dunbarr spoke to me about it, 
an' he said likely they would give me something to 
do there, an' if they did, he was sure I would try 
to do it well and be a gentleman. I will go over at 
the time you said." 

“I, too, am sure you will succeed, Willie, and it 
may be that I will come in and see you work some 
day." And then Gertrude turned to Mrs. Wilson 
and asked, ‘‘How is your husband to-day?" 

‘‘He 's aisier nor he war up to last Saturday, when 
the fever nare aboot left him. But he is wake, very 
wake, mom, an' he scarce notices ye at all, at all. 
He jist slapes, an' then he wakes oop an' coughs, 
loose loike, an' wants a bite to ate. Would ye loike 
to sae him, mom?" And she pushed back a coarse 
curtain which served to separate a bed-sink from the 
room they sat in; and there lay Wilson, very pale 
and weak. Mrs. Wilson roused him by saying : “Tom, 
a lady is coom to sae ye — Mr. Bronson's daughter. 
Kin ye spake to her, Tom?" Wilson turned his 
head, languidly, toward them, looked at Gertrude a 
moment, and then answered his wife's question by 
saying : 

“Oi moind her father roight well, but Oi do not 
moind to ha' met her." 

“I have heard father speak of you, and I knew 
that you were sick. I am glad to hear that you are 
getting better ; and, with good care, you will get 
strong again soon." 

“Loikely it 's no good yez haerd yer father 
shpake o' me." 

“I have heard that you are a strong and faithful 


86 As They Did It 

workman, and I am sure that you are missed at the 
factory.” 

“Yis, Oi kin worruk whin Oi ’m well ; but, shtill, 
Oi ’m a poor wake mon.«” 

Gertrude understood, and replied: ‘‘But, we will 
try to help you to overcome your weakness when 
your body gets strong again. We must not talk 
more now, for you are too weak to talk much. I 
will come in and talk with you in a few days, and 
I shall try to know about your health every day.” 

'‘There is one good mon who will try to hilp me, 
sure ; an’ he has tried already and Gertrude knew 
that he had Dunbarr in mind. 

She took the sick man’s hand, and said, as she 
was about to leave his bedside: "Yes, Mr. Wilson, 
there are good men who will try to help you ; but 
there is One who is stronger to help than all good 
men, and I am sure He will try to help you. You 
have heard of the Christ? I mean him. When you 
get stronger, perhaps we will talk to each other of 
him.” Then, turning to Mrs. Wilson, she said : "I 
must go now. Is there anything that I can aid you 
in? We all need some help when we have sickness 
in our homes.” 

"If Oi could ha’ soom plain sewin’ or soom 
mendin’ or soom ironin,’ it would hilp us. Oi had 
to give up me washin’ fur oothers while Tom is 
sick; the docthor said as how the stame would be 
bad fur him; an’ we nade a few things aboot the 
house. But the docthor had soom wood fitched; he 
said we would nade that as much as medicine.” 

"W e will see what we can do to help you to some 
work,” Gertrude promised, and then added, as she 


Unto Him 87 

left the house, ‘'I shall be glad to help you in any 
way I can, Mrs. Wilson.’' 

When they were alone, Willie remarked to his 
mother : “ What a good and pretty lady she is ! I 
seen her afore. I seen her on the streets a few 
times, an’ I leaned ag’in the winder an’ looked at 
her an’ heard her sing to George Graham’s funeral ; 
an’ the next Sunday I watched, an’ I seen her go 
into the fine church with her father, who owns the 
iron works. If they give me work there, I ’ll do 
me best.” 

“If ye moind all they tell to ye, ye ’ll git along 
all roight,” answered his mother. 

On her way home, Gertrude purchased some fruit 
and a fowl and ordered them to be taken to Thomas 
Wilson’s, requesting that no explanation be given 
other than that a friend had sent them. In her 
room, while arranging her toilet, before lunch, 
Gertrude said to herself : “This, to me, has been a 
happy forenoon. How I enjoy papa ! And I have 
had true pleasure while trying to help the Wilsons. 
But I confess that the fact that he is interested there 
too has added to my pleasure’. Why should I thus 
regard him? He is so general in his interest. I 
have no assurance that he has any truer regard for 
me than he has for the many sick and poor unto 
whom he ministers. And it may be that his heart’s 
true love has been given to another. But I will not 
permit myself to brood thus. I will keep my heart 
free and happy. This matter, which seems so vital 
to my happiness, I will take, where I have taken so 
many of my petty cares, to my Master. He knows 
and he has regard for my future usefulness,” And 


As They Did It 


vipon her fair young brow was the smile of peace as 
she, while slowly descending the stairway, sang 
softly : 

‘ ‘ Amid the trials which I meet, 

Amid the thorns that pierce my feet, 

One thought remains supremely sweet, 

Thou thinkest, Lord, of me ! 

Thou thinkest, Lord, of me. 

Thou thinkest. Lord, of me, 

What need I fear since thou art near. 

And thinkest. Lord, of me ! ” 


In the dining-room she met her father and told 
him of her business call at Wilson's, stating, ‘‘In my 
opinion, Willie will become quite a serviceable hand 
at the factory/' 

“Well," returned her father, “this will test your 
ability to choose and employ laborers, I ordered 
Mr. Gray to set the boy to work if he came ; and so, 
I presume, there will be a new man in our working 
force before I return to the office. How much did 
you agree to pay your man?" 

“There was nothing said about pay. We will 
determine that later. I am sure that you know 
that it was a regard for that poor family that led 
us to think of employing the boy ; and I am equally 
sure that you will agree to pay him all you reasonably 
can." 

“I agree to leave the matter wholly with you, 
Gertrude," added Mr. Bronson, smiling at the per- 
plexed expression on his daughter's face. 

“Well, papa, I know that partners counsel to- 
gether concerning matters so vital to their business 


Unto Him 


89 

as the wages that they pay their employees ; and I 
shall insist that you shirk none of your responsibility 
upon the junior member of the firm and Gertrude 
laughed merrily. 

In the meeting Monday night, called to consider 
the organization of an Anti-saloon League, there 
was some earnest and prolonged discussion. Deacon 
Holcomb was chosen chairman for the occasion. He 
plainly stated the object of the meeting, saying that 
he would permit an informal discussion of the mat- 
ter for a few minutes. There was a slight hesitation, 
and then Decaon Grimes took the floor. He did 
not favor such an organization as a Church auxiliary. 
Indeed, he was not sure that he favored an organiza- 
tion like the one proposed, by any means. He felt 
that already society is organized to death. “But,” 
said he, “if it seems best to have such, let the Church 
steer clear of it. In the first place, it lies outside 
the province of the Church ; it is a matter too worldly 
for the Church to affiliate with. The Church should 
keep herself on the old, time-honored and well-es- 
tablished highway.^^ 

When he sat down, Mrs. Stevens nudged Mrs. 
Burton and whispered : “Good for Deacon Grimes ! 
He expresses my sentiments. Some one must re- 
strict this Church, or, at the rate it has gone for the 
last three weeks, it will entirely lose its former dig- 
nity and run completely wild. I am glad that the 
deacon had the courage to speak as he did/’ 

Mrs. Burton whispered in reply: “We do not 
agree. I think that a Church Anti-saloon League, 
if properly managed, would be a very appropriate 
enterprise.” 


90 


As They Did It 


Others spoke, expressing different views of the 
proposition. Then there was a lull; and Deacon 
Holcomb remarked that he should be pleased to hear 
from Dr. Burns; and many others made request 
that he should speak. The doctor stepped forward, 
and addressed the meeting as follows: ‘T am glad 
that I have heard your different views. By these 
I understand your attitude towards the proposed 
enterprise. From my discourse, delivered last night, 
you know where I stand. Yet I want it distinctly 
understood that it is not my province nor desire to 
dictate, but only to advise. I discussed the plans 
and methods of the Anti-saloon League last night. 
I spoke briefly of what is in the province and power 
of such a League. And now, in order to place the 
matter formally before us, I move that the First 
Church of Warden proceed to organize an Anti- 
saloon League.’’ 

After the doctor sat down, there was a moment’s 
hesitation, and then Jerome Bronson deliberately 
arose and seconded the doctor’s motion. In the 
formal discussion that followed, many took a part. 
Deacon Grimes, true to his former position, spoke 
warmly in support of the negative. Among other 
reasons he urged was the following : 

^Tf this Church undertakes a matter of this kind, 
it will lose its popularity. A considerable number 
of the rich and influential, who have affiliated with 
us, will turn from us, feeling that we are antagoniz- 
ing their financial interests. We can not afford to 
lose their support. We can not afford to become 
unpopular.” 

“That is the just and wise view of the situation. 


Unto Him 


91 

That is common sense as well as religion exclaimed 
Mrs. Stevens in a loud whisper. 

When Dr. Burns spoke in support of his motion, 
he did so at some length and with his usual earnest- 
ness. In reply to Deacon Grimes he said : “While 
we have no friends nor genuine popularity to lose, 
yet the first and most important question for a 
Church of Christ, as well as for an individual, to 
raise is, ^What is right?’ Any swerving from the 
line of right to gain popularity or financial aid will 
react as seriously upon a Church as upon an indi- 
vidual.” 

In direct support of the question before the meet- 
ing he said: “As to a Church Anti-saloon League, 
it is the ideal of this new temperance movement. 
It places the Church squarely upon record as to the 
temperance question, and it is an organized instru- 
ment that the individual Church can wield effectually 
in the cause of temperance. It is also flexible to 
kindred temperance organizations. This may be 
seen in the following illustration : Suppose that the 
other large Churches of this city should organize 
a Church League — and, by the way, several of our 
sister Churches are contemplating such organiza- 
tions — then, from members chosen from these sev- 
eral Church Leagues could be formed a Union Cen- 
tral Committee to do aggressive temperance work 
in our city, having the support of all these Churches 
back of it. But,” said Dr. Burns, in closing, “I 
would not over-influence this meeting. I am but one 
of your number; and I want each one here to vote 
just as his own judgment and conscience may dic- 
tate.” 


92 


As They Did It 

The motion was then called for, and was carried 
by a large majority, and the organization was 
effected. 

The Christian Endeavorers, who had not been 
out, as a society, for a social time and recreation 
since the last of December, had planned for a coast- 
ing party on the Friday night of the last full week 
of January. A few warm days had caused the snow 
to settle considerably, and on their chosen night the 
sky was cloudless and the moon was but a few days 
past the full. Jack Holcomb, whose home was but 
one mile out of the city limits, had invited the so- 
ciety to coast on a long and conveniently steep hill 
upon his father’s farm. At seven o’clock a large 
majority of the society had gathered on this hill, 
with many sleighs and two mammoth toboggans, as 
Jack termed them. The conveyances which brought 
the young people out had been driven back to the 
city, the drivers understanding that they were to 
return for the party at ten o’clock. 

At about eight o’clock, just as a group of young 
people had gathered upon the brow of the hill, a 
large, iron-gray horse came bounding up the road, 
and then across the field to where the coasters were ; 
and soon the shout rang out through the clear air, 
'‘Dr. Burns ! Dr. Burns ! Salute Dr. Burns !” The 
salute was given with caps and muffs and handker- 
chiefs, and then Marian Mills spoke, saying: "Why, 
Dr. Burns ! we thought that, for once, we had got- 
ten out of your sight and hidden away on this high 
hill where you could not find us.” 

"Mistaken again. Miss Mills,” returned the doc- 
tor. "It would be virtually impossible for you young 


Unto Him 


93 


people to go beyond the scope of my thought and 
care ; and it would be difficult for you to climb a hill 
so steep that the General here” — placing his hand 
caressingly upon the proudly-arched neck of his 
horse — ‘‘could not carry me to you. A noble horse, 
of whose direct lineage this horse is, helped me to 
do service as a cavalry soldier-boy in the memorable 
battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge, 
back in the November of ’ 63 .” 

At this, another group of the coasters, with to- 
boggan and sleighs, reached the summit; and they 
called out, “Three cheers for Dr. Burns !” And they 
gave them. Then they, one and all, shouted, “A 
speech, Dr. Burns, a speech !” 

“No, no!” rejoined the doctor, “you have all of 
my speeches as fast as I can find them. You are a 
coasting party, and the God of nature has given 
you a most beautiful night. May your minds be as 
clear and free as the air you breathe 1 May your 
hearts be as pure as this snow that covers the earth 
and provides for you a glistering path of pleasure ! 
May the Son of righteousness beam upon you, not 
with a waning light as does this beautiful moon, but 
with an ever-increasing brilliancy 1 May nature, po- 
tent with her purity, as it is to-night, bring you into 
loving sympathy with the God of nature 1 And thus 
may our pleasure be to us a happy means of grace, 
and may we joyously do all to the glory of our 
Master 1 But get yourselves in line and go down 
the hill. I came to see you coast, not to speak 
to you.” 

They cheered the doctor, then formed three lines, 
one line for each of the paths they had made, and 


94 


As They Did It 


soon they were rushing and shouting down the hill. 
Dr. Burns, from the top of the hill, watched them 
until they reached the bottom. Then he raised his 
hat high in the air, wheeled about and gave the 
reins to his horse, which sped away with his master, 
out of the field and up the lane to the residence of 
Deacon Holcomb. 


CHAPTER VII 


“Oi ’ll Try, Miss” 

“ Him that cometh to me, 1 will in no wise cast out.” 

T~^ UN BARR was highly esteemed by the young 
people of the First Church of Warden, and the 
Christian Endeavor Society had warmly urged him 
to be with them in their coasting party. He prom- 
ised conditionally, saying: ‘dt would give me much 
pleasure to be with you. I thank you for the cor- 
dial invitation, and I will gladly accept it, if I can 
do so and not neglect my professional duties. Would 
I be excusable for coming late, if I should be de- 
tained in the city?^^ 

'^Certainly, Doctor,’’ replied the chairman of the 
social committee ; “come at any convenient time, but 
come as early as your duties will permit.” 

A number of unanticipated duties at his office 
and a call to visit a sick man, who lived two miles 
in the country, west of the city, did detain him, so 
that it was nearly nine o’clock when he drove with 
horse and cutter to where the coasters were. Their 
joyous greeting of him was abruptly ended by the 
sound of Deacon Holcomb’s dinner-bell. “What 
does that mean ?” “Whom are they calling?” “Does 
that signify anything to our party?” were some of 
95 


96 


As They Did It 


the questions that they asked. Jack Holcomb sprang 
into Dunbarr's cutter, and, placing one hand on the 
doctor's shoulder, answered in a loud voice : 

'‘It means that we are to go to the house, right 
now. They have something all ready for us." 

"Yes," said the social committee, "we have pre- 
pared a little surprise for you ; and we must all re- 
spond in person to the call of that bell." 

"But Dr. Dunbarr has just arrived, and we must 
not go until he has at least one ride down the hill," 
was the remark of many. 

“O no ! Do not delay on my account. That 
would be rewarding me for being late." 

"But we are sure that you came as soon as you 
could get away, and you must have one ride," was 
the unanimous conclusion. 

"Well, then, we must all go together," said Dun- 
barr, as he handed the reins to Jack and bounded 
out of the cutter. "Let us get our vehicles in line, 
and then all start at the word." 

"Yes," said Jack, "I 'll hold the doctor’s horse 
while you are gone." 

Dunbarr was given a place on one of the tobog- 
gans, and soon three lines were formed and the happy 
company sped down the hill. At a line near the 
foot of the hill, the sleighs were guided skillfully 
from the paths and directed, at different angles, be- 
ing carried by their momentum many rods out upon 
the low and level field. 

Just as the party started, the thought occurred 
to Jack that it would be wise fun to drive up to the 
house — a distance of about eighty rods — and report 
that the company would be there soon, and then re- 


‘‘Oi’ll Try, Miss” 


97 


turn by the time that the coasters had climbed the 
hill again. He was detained at the house longer 
than he had anticipated, and, therefore, he started 
back for the hill at a quickened speed. He had a 
firm hold upon the reins, and drew upon them reso- 
lutely; but instead of checking, this increased the 
speed of the horse. He turned into the field safely, 
and then sped away toward the place where the 
young people were already gathering, the speed in- 
creasing in proportion to the number of pounds that 
the bo}^ drew back on the horse. To locate the 
cutter at the place from which Jack started with it, 
necessitated the making of a rather sharp curve. 
Here the cutter swerved, ran upon one runner a 
little way, and would have been thrown over with 
force at Dunbarr’s feet, had he not called out in 
a firm tone, ^‘VVhoa !’^ at the same moment catch- 
ing the cutter and preventing its overthrow. The 
horse, at the command of his master, stopped so 
suddenly that Jack was thrown forward, and, nearly 
turning a somersault, landed, in a sitting posture, 
in the snow at Miss Bronson’s feet. Dunbarr was 
instantly at the boy’s side, and helped him to arise, 
as he remarked, “Well, you got back in time, did 
you not. Jack?” Then looking him over a moment, 
he added, “And you are all right, too.” 

Jack was considerably embarrassed; and his re- 
ply was so remote from the present episode that 
it provoked an outburst of laughter, “We had all 
best go to the house now ; mother has been waiting 
for us some minutes.” 

“Agreed,” returned Dunbarr; “and will you ride 
with me. Jack?” 

7 


98 


As They Did It 

''No, sir; thank you, Doctor, I have had my ride;” 
and again the company laughed merrily. 

Then, turning to Miss Mills and Miss Bronson, 
Dunbarr asked, "Will you two ladies please ride 
to the house with me?” 

"Yes, but we consent with reluctance, remember- 
ing that we were not your first choice,” replied Miss 
Mills, gleefully. 

"Doctor, are you sure that you can hold that 
horse?” asked Gertrude, as she stepped forward to 
enter the cutter. 

"I assure you. Miss Bronson, that I can control 
him perfectly.” 

These three led the way, leisurely, to the Holcomb 
residence. The others followed, singing and con- 
versing pleasurably, as young people are wont to do. 

"How beautiful Deacon Holcomb's house ap- 
pears, with every room lighted!” remarked Miss 
Mills. "It is like a city set upon a hill.” 

"It is a token of the genuine hospitality of Mr. 
and Mrs. Holcomb, and an expression of what their 
lives have long been to our Church and to the com- 
munity at large — a bright and cheerful light in the 
way of righteousness,” responded Miss Bronson. 

The surprise that the social committee and Mrs. 
Holcomb had for the party was the invitation to the 
brilliantly-lighted and thoroughly-warmed Holcomb 
home, and to light refreshments, consisting of fruits, 
popcorn, and warm maple-sugar. 

When Mrs. Holcomb introduced the warm sugar, 
she explained: "This is Jack's idea. He said: 
'Mother, let 's have some maple-sugar warmed up. 
You have a quantity left from last year, and in about 


“Oi’ll Try, Miss” 


99 


a month it will be time to make sugar again. No 
matter if it is early for it. Let ’s get the start of 
all others, and have the first warm-sugar party of 
the season. And then the snow is now so nice to 
make wax.' So this is Jack's part of the entertain- 
ment." 

Ten o'clock came all too soon. Dr. Burns, in 
behalf of the Endeavorers, thanked the family for 
their hospitality. Then one of the young ladies 
arose and thanked Jack for both his part of the 
refreshments and for the short but startling enter- 
tainment that he gave them down at the hill at the 
end of their last coasting-trip. Jack understood the 
allusion, and was somewhat disconcerted. 

“Jack did bravely, all things considered," said 
Dunbarr. “I will whisper to him a short secret, and 
then he can manage the horse as well as I can." 

“Why not whisper the secret so loudly that we 
all may hear it?" asked Miss Mills. “Any one of us 
may wish to drive your horse some day." 

“Yes, do. Doctor; I certainly have not merited 
any special favor from you to-night," remarked Jack. 

“Well, I will tell it for the purpose of reassuring 
Jack, so that he may be as bold a horseman as ever," 
responded Dunbarr. “The horse has been trained 
to come to his speed when the driver pulls steadily 
and increasingly hard on the reins, and to lessen 
his speed when the driver slackens the reins and 
asks him to go slower." 

The party sang a good-night song, shook hands 
with the family, and soon were taken to the city by 
the teamsters, who had become impatient waiting 
for them. Dr. Burns rode slowly after them, giving 
LofC. 


loo As They Did It 

himself up completely to the charms of this perfect 
winter night. 

Willie Wilson, as he had anticipated, began work 
at the Bronson Iron Works. Gertrude visited her 
father’s office several times this week; and, at one 
time, in company with her father, went out where 
the boy was engaged and spoke to him encourag- 
ingly. He bowed politely, but seemed perplexed by 
her presence. 

^‘Mr. Gray tells me,” remarked Mr. Bronson, 
‘‘that the boy has more ambition than strength. I 
have ordered that his work be as light as may be, 
and that he have a change of work each half-day. 
What have you decided to pay him, Gertrude?” 

“I have wondered if one-half the wages which 
you paid his father would be too much,” answered 
Gertrude. 

“No,” said her father. “We will pay him that, 
for the family is quite needy; and it may be that 
the boy will earn that much; he is quick and handy. 
I have paid him at that rate each night this week.” 

“That was so kind in you, papa. I am sure that 
it has encouraged the boy and helped Mrs. Wilson.” 

“Speaking of wages reminds me of a little change 
I am about to make in the time of paying our em- 
ployees. Our custom has been to pay the majority 
of our men each Saturday night. But I notified them, 
one week ago, that, beginning with the first of Feb- 
ruary, we should pay on Monday night.” 

“Why do you make that change?” asked Ger- 
trude. 

“Well, a number of the men have the habit of 
reacting after the week’s work, and on Saturday 


“ Oi ’ll Try, Miss ” loi 

nights and Sundays squander much of their wages 
for strong drink and in gambling; and, to get their 
pay on Monday, may prevent some of this folly. 
This idea was suggested to me by Dr. Dunbarr a 
fortnight ago.’’ 

Gertrude’s only reply was, 'T hope the change will 
prove helpful to the men and their families;” but' 
she thought, “I am getting papa’s opinion of Dr. 
Dunbarr without openly asking for it.” 

At the meeting of the Loyal Daughters, held at 
Mrs. Sawyer’s on the last Saturday afternoon of 
January, plans were formed for working in conjunc- 
tion with the reading-room, which was soon to be 
opened in the lecture-room of the church. 

''We can do much,” said Mrs. Sawyer, "toward 
making this enterprise a success; but we must be 
careful to remain within ouah own province, and 
not to attempt that which the othah auxiliaries of 
the Church would naturally take up. We can speak 
of the reading-room and of the free entertainments 
in the homes we visit, and can awaken the interest 
of the women and children. In short, in ouah per- 
sonal work, we can help to direct the attention of 
the common people towards this new undertaking.” 

The matter of furnishing plain work for Mrs. 
Wilson and others was discussed and agreed upon. 
"Many who would spurn ouah open charity, will 
gladly work for the necessaries of life,” remarked 
Mrs. Sawyer. 

On the following Tuesday night, at the close of 
a large and enthusiastic meeting, the committee 
which was appointed to complete the reading-room 
project reported that the rooms would be opened 


102 


As They Did It 

on the following Saturday night — the first Saturday 
night in February. The committee asked the Chris- 
tion Endeavor Society to decorate these rooms with 
pictures and flowers, and to aid in extending in- 
vitations. It was also announced that a short musical 
and literary program would be rendered on this 
evening. 

Said Dr. Burns, who, as chairman of the com- 
mittee, gave the report : “Do not be disheartened 
if but a few of those we wish to reach respond to 
our invitation at first. They may be shy of us 
until they fully understand our design. Let many 
of our own people, both old and young, be present 
to manifest a true interest. We will speak to every 
stranger, expressing our pleasure at his presence, 
asking him to be sure to come again and to bring 
his friends with him, and reminding liim that our 
house of worship is to be opened every night of 
the week. And,’’ continued Dr. Burns, “the Loyal 
Daughters have offered to furnish light refreshments 
for our guests on the second Saturday night. I 
trust that we will not lose sight of the principal 
object of this enterprise — to call in and interest, 
and to benefit, and, the Lord helping us, to save 
those that are neglected, and wayward, and sinful. 
I trust that this enterprise will have a place in our 
hearts and in our prayers.” 

On Wednesday, the second day of February, 
Miss Bronson visited Thomas Wilson. She found 
him able to sit bolstered in his bed. The coarse cur- 
tain was fastened back, and he was watching his 
wife, who was busy with some sewing which had 
been brought in for her to do. 


am glad to see you so much better, Mr. Wil- 
son,^’ Gertrude remarked. 

it ’s mesilf that am glad too, Miss. But Oi 
coom on so shlow, loike, that Oi nigh aboot lose 
hope. It ’s nigh on to three wakes since Oi took 
sick, an’ the docthor tells me it will be a long toinie 
yit afore Oi kin worruk.” 

“But, Tom,” said Mrs. Wilson, “ye must moind 
that oor Willie is worrukin’, an’ soom koind women 
has give me soom worruk to do, so we kin buy the 
food an’ the fuel. There ’s no nade that ye worry, 
Tom.” 

“No, you must not worry, but just be patient, 
and soon you will be well and strong,” urged Ger- 
trude. 

“Loikely me folks will have as much to ate whin 
Oi ’m sick as whin Oi ’m well ; fur, as Oi said to yez 
whin yez war in afore, Oi ’m a poor wake mon, aven 
whin Oi ’m well an’ shtrong.” 

“But,” Gertrude replied, “you remember that I 
told you that you might have help and become strong 
to overcome your habit.” 

“Yiz, yez said so. Miss, an’ yez spoke of the 
Christ as one who would hilp one more than all 
good mons could. An’ Oi ’ve been thinkin’ since 
yez said it, an’ Oi ’ve wanted to ask yez if it ’s the 
same One that they sphake much aboot at the 
Churches ? An’ Oi want to ask yez if he allers hil])s 
them that ask him ?” 

“There is but one Christ, Mr. Wilson, and the 
many Churches speak much about him and teach 
that he is our Savior ; and that he is kind and loving 
and true and pure, and that he will help us to be 


104 As They Did It 

kind and loving and true and pure. And he has 
promised to help all who will come to him/’ 

‘^But, Miss, Oi faer he does not kape his promise 
at all toimes.’’ 

^‘Why so, Mr. Wilson?’’ 

‘'Because Oi know manny’s the mon that go 
to the churches an’ say their prayers an’ spake the 
name of Christ, an’ whin their oot they chate an’ lie 
an’ shwear an’ dhrink, an’ do not sake a mon’s wel- 
fare. Now, Miss, he does not hilp sich who coom 
to him, do yez think?” 

"Let me answer your questions, Mr. Wilson, by 
asking a question. Have you noticed any difference 
in the people who attend the churches and profess 
to be the servants of Christ? That is, have you not 
seen some good people who profess to have come 
to the Christ?” 

"Yis, indade, Oi have, sure. Oi ’m thinkin’ o’ 
one now. Dr. Dunbarr. He shpoke to me of the 
Christ on New-Yaer’s mornin’, an’ he is loike the 
what yez say of him — koind an’ thrue an’ pure, loike. 
He has been to the Christ fur hilp, fur Oi seen him 
an’ heerd him at George Graham’s bedside.” 

"Yes, Mr. Wilson, you have noticed a dilterence,” 
continued Gertrude, "and I want you to see that the 
difference is in the individual and not in the Christ. 
Now, suppose that two men should go to your doc- 
tor, both telling him that they wished him to come 
and attend a sick child; and the doctor knew that 
one of these men was not sincere and did not wish 
him to come, while the other was sincere and very 
much wished him to come ; with which would your 
doctor be likely to go?” 


“Oi’Il Try, Miss” 105 

“More then loikely he would go quick wid the 
mon who wanted him bad, sure/' 

“Well, the Christ knows who is sincere and who 
is not; and he who is not, the Christ can not help. 
Again, Mr. Wilson, suppose there were two men, 
equally sick, but one of these would not take the 
doctor’s medicine nor heed his advice, while the 
other would; which one of these two men could the 
doctor help?” 

“The sick mon who takes what the docthor gives 
him an’ hades his advoice, sure.” 

“Well,” explained Gertrude, “sometimes people 
go to Christ for help, but will not do as he bids 
them ; and such he can not help.” 

“Yiz, Miss, it is loike this : Dr. Dunbarr says, 
'Tom, do not go to the s’loon, but coom an’ see 
me first.’ But Oi will not give him me word nor 
take his koind advice ; an’ so he kin not hilp me 
mooch. But, Miss, kin yez give to me a plain word 
that the Christ sends oot to me?” 

“I really can, Mr. Wilson, for there are many. 
The following come to my mind now : 'Come unto 
me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will 
give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn 
of me ; for T am meek and lowly in heart ; and ye 
shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is 
easy and my ])urden is light.’ ‘Ye will not come to 
me that ye might have life.’ Tlim that cometh to 
me I will in no wise cast out.’ ‘And the Spirit and 
the bride say. Come. And let him that heareth, say. 
Come. And let him that is athirst come. And who- 
soever will, let him take the water of life freely.’ And 
these invitations are for you.” 


io6 


As They Did It 


“An’ did he say all o’ that, Miss? An’ did he 
shpake it fur me?” 

“Yes, Mr. Wilson, he spoke all that, and for you 
and for me.” 

“An’ kin yez think o’ soom other word that 
shtates plain that he kin hilp a poor mon. Miss?” 

“I think of one that states clearly the very help 
that he is able to give to all who truly come to him. 
This is it : 'Come, now, and let us reason together, 
saith the Lord ; though your sins be as scarlet, they 
shall be as white as snow; and though they be red 
like crimson, they shall be as wool. If ye be willing 
and obedient, ye shall eat of the good of the land. 
But if ye refuse and rebel, ye shall be devoured 
with the sword; for the mouth of the Lord hath 
spoken it.” 

“Well, that is plain, loike; but kin ye tell me. 
Miss, how that the Christ kin do so mooch more 
fur a poor, wake mon than any good mon kin do 
fur the same ?” 

“The Christ is the almighty Savior; so is able to 
take away our sins, changing our lives. You may 
think of the matter like this : Suppose that you had 
a very sore spot on the lower part of one of your 
lungs. Now, your physician must doctor that sick 
lung from the outside. But suppose that there should 
come to you a very skillful physician who was able 
to go right in to where that sore place is, and, with 
very tender hands, cleanse the sore and apply a 
soothing balm, which would completely heal your 
lung. You can see that he would have greater power 
to help you than your own doctor could have. This 
is a very imperfect answer to your question, Mr. 


‘‘Oi ’ll Try, Miss’^ 


107 


Wilson, and there are faults in my illustration ; but 
1 hope that what I have said may help you in your 
thought of the Christ. I can not tell you just how 
the Christ can help us so much, but I do know 
that he can.'' 

“Oi think. Miss, that yez have coom to him an' 
that he has hilped yez, so that yez are loike him abit ; 
koind an' thrue an' pure, loike," replied Wilson, 
thoughtfully. 

''I desire that you should come to him for help, 
Mr. Wilson, for it is his help that you need. Will 
you not come to him?" 

'‘It moight be. Miss, that he would not hade me, 
if Oi should ask him; an' he moight say, ‘No, no, 
Tom; yez are too bad a mon.' " 

“He will never say that to you, for he has pledged 
himself not to turn you away. Listen to his Word 
once more, ‘Him that cometh to me I will in no wise 
cast out.’ Now will you come?" 

“Oi 'll try. Miss," was Wilson's laconic reply. 

“I fear I have wearied your husband, and he 
may be worse after so long a talk," said Gertrude, 
turning to Mrs. Wilson. 

“Little is the danger. Miss. He may be a little 
wary, but he 'll rest soon. 'T is bether that he talked 
oot to ye ; fur what ye said aboot the Christ t’other 
toime has been in his moind since. An' Oi think 
ye shpake well to him. Miss. An’ do ye keer that 
Oi heerd yer talk an' thought aboot it ?" 

“O no, Mrs. Wilson, not at all. If I were able 
to say anything that helped to awaken your interest 
in the subject that we were considering, I am pleased. 
Is there any question you wish to ask?” 


io8 As They Did It 

“Only one, Miss. Kin any one, no matter who, 
coom to him fur hilp V 

''Certainly, Mrs, Wilson. I now remember what 
Christ said about this very question. This is his 
word: 'For God so loved the world that he gave 
his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in 
him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ 
You notice that this word says, 'That whosoever 
believeth in him !’ So, you see, that is Christ’s own 
answer to your question.” 

A few moments later Gertrude took her leave 
of the Wilsons, promising, in accord with their re- 
quest, to soon visit them again. 

While Gertrude was at Thomas Wilson’s, Mrs. 
Stevens called upon Mrs. Bronson. These two 
ladies had long been friends, and they frequently 
confided in each other. They were talking con- 
fidentially this afternoon about their Church and the 
digressions from its established customs. "I won- 
der,” said Mrs. Bronson, "what it will all lead to, and 
where it will all end?” 

"I, too, am full of wonderment,” returned Mrs. 
Stevens. "I wonder why so many fall in with this 
fanaticism, and what will be the proper course to 
take to restrain the Church and cause it to confine 
itself to its good old ways. Deacon Grimes and I 
were consulting together yesterday, and we con- 
cluded that if Dr. Burns were to resign, all might 
be well again. But he is such a dear, good man, 
and has been with us so long, no one could enter- 
tain the hope of his resigning, much less could they 
ask him to do so. Did you notice that he empha- 
sized as the principal object of the church reading- 


“ Oi ’ll Try, Miss” 109 

room, the calling in of the neglected, the wayward, 
and the sinful, meaning the common laboring people 
and the reckless? How different, how radically dif- 
ferent, from our former prosperous course !” And 
Mrs. Stevens folded her hands in her lap and sighed. 

“I am greatly annoyed at the course that my 
daughter takes,’' remarked Mrs. Bronson. “She 
seems to be fully in sympathy with this new de- 
parture. Indeed, I am not sure but she is one of 
the leaders in it. I have tried to rear her differently, 
and I have planned such a different life for her. But 
I seem powerless to influence her ; and of course, 
now, it would not be good taste to compel her. I 
should not be surprised to learn that, even now, 
she is visiting some poor and outcast family. Can 
you devise a remedy, Mrs. Stevens ?” 

“I have anticipated your feelings, Mrs. Bronson, 
and have thought quite considerably upon the mat- 
ter. Gertrude is of the age when she should become 
deeply interested in some refined gentleman who 
comes of a good family and who possesses wealth ; 
and could her interests center in such an individual, 
her mind would be quickly withdrawn from such 
unusual employment and from such vulgar associa- 
tions. And, by the way, I have a friend in the East 
who has a son, a finished gentleman, such as I have 
briefly outlined. He has culture, and leisure, and 
wealth. I had thought to invite him and his mother 
to visit me in the spring. But I might write, inviting 
them to visit me soon, if you thought it advisable.” 

“I am pleased with the idea, Mrs. Stevens. Please 
do as you have suggested; but, in the meantime, 
use your influence over Gertrude.” 


no 


As They Did It 


will do so at your request. My influence over 
young people is quite marked, and I may be able to 
help Gertie.^’ 

At this Gertrude, returning from her call, en- 
tered the drawing-room and greeted her mother and 
Mrs. Stevens pleasantly, remarking, ''What a beau- 
tiful afternoon for calling!'’ 

"Have you made many calls, daughter?" 

"No, mamma, only one," was Gertrude's answer. 


CHAPTER VIII 


“Really Insipid” 

“Thou hast a name that thou livest, and art dead.” 

TT would not have pleased us to listen to the re- 
^ proof and advice which Gertrude Bronson re- 
ceived from her mother and Mrs. Stevens on the 
afternoon mentioned at the close of our last chapter. 
On the contrary, we should have been grieved, if not 
angered. That the beautiful and refined daughter of 
Jerome Bronson should make a prolonged call at the 
home of Tom Wilson, was to Mrs. Stevens and Mrs. 
Bronson a fact almost intolerable. Gertrude re- 
ceived their admonition with patience, and answered 
their questions with respect and candor ; but she 
remained firm in her convictions regarding her duty, 
and made no compromise with what seemed to her 
to be unlike Christ. When the unpleasant interview 
was ended, and she had taken refuge in the quietude 
of her own room, she gave some expression to her 
restrained emotion as she spoke slowly and in tones 
scarce louder than a whisper: “I am not angry with 
mamma and Mrs. Stevens ; but the view they hold 
of Christian duty and the course they take with me 
grieve me. They are older and should know better 
about such matters than I ; and yet I am sure that 
they are wrong, because their views are so unlike 
the teachings and conduct of Christ. How variously 

III 


I 12 


As They Did It 


he taught that ‘they that are whole need not a phy- 
sician, but they that are sick!’ How continuously, 
his great life was given to the common and needy 
classes I What possible wrong can there t)e in teach- 
ing people, like Thomas Wilson and his wife, lessons 
of the compassion and love of Christ? How eager 
they seemed to learn about him 1 It is the lack of 
knowledge and of love for Christ that has caused 
their pitiable condition. And are not the religious 
people of Warden, in great measure, responsible for 
the ignorance of people like Mr. and Mrs. Wilson? 
I wish mamma could see this matter differently, for 
I would gladly please her. I think that papa ap- 
proves of my course, and is not ashamed of his daugh- 
ter. I am sure that I have the approval of the Divine 
Master, and I am very happy in his love while I am 
doing such humble service as I have done this after- 
noon. I can not recant. With humble and happy 
heart I will go on quietly in this way. He will in- 
struct me with his counsels. He will guide me with 
his eye and she bowed her head and lifted her 
thought in prayer. 

The interview which she had with Gertrude did 
not discourage Mrs. Stevens ; for, what other graces 
this lady may have lacked, she certainly did not lack 
the grace of persistency ; and she was supremely de- 
lighted to use this grace in her endeavors to exert 
a ‘^marked” influence. Immediately, therefore, on 
returning to her home, she wrote the following note 
to her friend in the East, Mrs. Milford: 

‘‘My Dkar Flora, — For some time I have in- 
tended to invite you and your accomplished son to 


‘‘Really Insipid” 


113 


visit me early in the coming spring. But, by circum- 
stances which I will explain later, I am led to ask 
you to visit me in this present month. The matter 
of making a visit six weeks earlier than had been 
anticipated will not inconvenience a lady in your cir- 
cumstances. I should like you to come as near the 
twentieth of the month as you conveniently can, for 
I am already planning a brilliant reception for Walter. 
I wish it to occur on the twenty-second of the month. 
We wish him to enter immediately into the society 
of Warden ; for said society needs his refining and 
elevating influence. Please do not delay. Come in- 
tending to make a long visit. I shall expect a favor- 
able answer from you by return mail. 

“Yours, as of old, Emiuy STii:vKNS. 

At the expiration of five days, the following reply 
was received : 

“My Dear Emiey, — Your kind communication, 
extending to me and my dear son a cordial invitation 
to visit you in the near future, has received our due 
consideration. I, personally, esteem the invitation 
timely, if not providential. Walter, of late, has be- 
come restless. The demands of society upon him 
are overtaxing him, and I am satisfied that a com- 
plete change will be beneficial to him. I do not for- 
get your statement to the effect that he is needed to 
regulate, if not to reform, the society of Warden, but 
I anticipate that the change will be a tonic sufficient 
to revive him. We have concluded, therefore, to 
come even a few days earlier than you have suggested. 
You may expect us on the afternoon train of Feb- 
8 


1 14 As They Did It 

ruary eighteenth. This will permit Walter a few days’ 
rest, and will afford him an opportunity to make a 
social inventory of your city. Trusting that all will 
terminate in accord with our wise plans, I remain 

‘Wours, with old-time love, 

‘"Fi^ora Mii^rord.*' 

From the date of its organization in Warden the 
Anti-saloon League had made a commendable 
record. As Dr. Burns suggested as probable, two of 
the other strong Churches in the city did organize 
Leagues, and from these three Church Leagues a 
Central Union Committee was formed. This com- 
mittee began immediately to work through the mayor 
of the city and the chief of police, who, fortunately, 
favored temperance. Dunbarr, who, against his 
wishes, was chosen as a member of this committee, 
was active in directing the attention of the civil offi- 
cers to the many violations of the liquor law ; and, as 
a result, a number of arrests were made for selling 
to minors and to habitual drunkards and at times on 
which the law specifies that intoxicating liquors shall 
not be sold. 

‘AVhy are you houndin’ us so close, lately?” 
asked Bill Graves, a saloon-keeper, of one of the 
officers. 

‘‘We are only living up to our oath of office,” was 
the officer's reply; “just seeking to enforce the law, 
that is all.” 

“You have become mighty conscientious of late 
about keepin’ your oath of office,” returned Bill. 
“Something or somebody has been pokin’ you up ; 
and I do n’t know what has done it, unless it is that 


‘‘Really Insipid” 


IIS 

new concern they call the Anti-saloon League. But 
let me tell you that you want to let up, or we will 
‘anti’ you when the next ’lection comes. And them 
fellows that have got up and are pushin’ that League 
business had best to go slow.” 

“Let me inform you,” replied the officer, “that 
you saloon-keepers need not fear us if you will do 
business according to law. We are pledged to pro- 
tect law-abiding citizens. You had better not 
threaten, but, instead, just keep the law.” 

‘But the law is too strict ; we could not do a payin’ 
business if we kept it.” 

“Quite a confession you are making. Bill. You 
are just telling me that you are not keeping the law, 
but, by evading it, you are doing a paying business. 
Plain enough that you fellows need to be watched. 
And we are the fellows to do it. The fact is, we have 
to look after you. The citizens of Warden have be- 
gun to watch the way that you do business ; and when 
they find that you are violating the law, they come to 
us and say, ‘There ’s a case ; attend to it.’ And, if 
we do not, they have power to impeach us. So do 
not blame us for doing our duty. You. just look up 
the law and keep it strictly, and you have nothing to 
fear. Or, if it does not pay to keep a saloon as the 
law specifies, go out of the business and do something 
at which you can be a law-abiding citizen.” 

“But why do n’t you officers git after the drug- 
stores ? They break the law as often as we do ; and 
only have to pay twenty-five dollars for a license, 
while we are compelled to pay five hundred dollars ?” 

“You may be sure that we shall attend to any 
known violation of the law by any druggist. But it 


ii6 


As They Did It 


is surprising to me, Bill, that you saloon-keepers do 
not prosecute the druggists who, you say, sell more 
whisky than the saloons do. You certainly are a very 
stupid set of fellows to let them, with a license which 
costs only twenty-five dollars each, do the business 
that you pay five hundred dollars for the right to do ; 
or else you saloonists do not know what you are 
talking about when you accuse the druggists as 
you do.’' 

'‘I reckon that we are stupid enough. There is 
one thing sure : we have got to be lookin’ after our 
own affairs closer, or else go out of the business,” 
and he shook his head and walked slowly into his 
saloon. 

‘T wonder what Job Wilkes an’ his chums are 
talkin’ so sober an’ so quiet about to-night,” re- 
marked Willie Wilson as he came in from doing an 
errand over town, one evening in the second week 
of February. 

'‘Where did you hear them, Willie?” asked his 
mother. 

'T heerd them on the street as I come along. 
An’ I walked slow like, an’ I heerd some words, but 
could n’t ketch enough to make sense. It was some- 
thin’ about pleadin’ guilty an’ fifty dollars an’ cost ; 
an’ then after a bit they spoke Dr. Dunbarr’s name, 
an’ then I heerd no more.” 

"Oi think it ’s loikely that Job Wilkes war 
shpakin’ of bayin’ harested for sellin’ liquor unlaw- 
ful,” said Mr. Wilson, who was able to sit up in his 
chair. 

"An’ who got the liquor unlawful, Tom? An’ 
who had Job Wilkes harested?” asked Mrs. Wilson. 


‘‘Really Insipid'' 


117 

‘'It war a habitual drunkard that took the unlaw- 
ful liquor, an’ it war Dr. Dunbarr what had Wilkes 
harested. An’ Willie, me b’y, yez must kape lookin’ 
fur what they ’ll be sayin’ aboot Dunbarr, fur they 
bode him no good.’’ 

Wilson was right in his conclusion. On Thursday 
of this week Job Wilkes was to answer in the Circuit 
Court to the charge of selling intoxicating drink to 
an habitual drunkard. Dunbarr, Dr. Burns, and Wil- 
son were to be the principal witnesses for the prose- 
cution ; and it was thought that the latter would be 
able to be taken to the court-house if his presence 
was needed. 

While the case against Wilkes seemed to be a 
very clear one, yet it was expected by many that he 
would make a desperate effort to escape conviction. 
But on Thursday afternoon, when the case was called. 
Attorney Ware addressed the court in behalf of his 
client, Wilkes, as follows : 

“Your Honor, we well understand how confus- 
ingly complicated this case would, without doubt, 
become, and to what an enormous expense it would 
put our county, if we should fight for our case 
through a long trial. It is not our purpose thus to 
embarrass our county, nor to subject my client, who 
is a modest and peace-loving man, to the unfavorable 
comment and defaming testimony of the prosecution. 
I, therefore, please your honor, would for my client, 
file the plea, ‘Guilty as charged.’ And we respectfully 
invoke the leniency of the court.” 

This, as we have suggested, was an unlooked-for 
turn of affairs ; but the defense had at least two ob- 
jects : to avoid the publicity of a long trial, ending in 


ii8 As They Did It 

defeat, and the hope of a light sentence from the 
court. 

This result was gratifying to the people. It was 
a victory for temperance. It proved that the present 
temperance laws are of some practical account. The 
attendant cost was but a trifle. “But/' said Dr. 
Burns to Deacon Holcomb, “we need not look for 
another such victory soon. And, if I am not mis- 
taken, the spirit of retaliation lies back of this seem- 
ing submission." 

While the Church reading-room did not at first 
receive the patronage that some had hoped it would, 
yet the enterprise had no discouraging features. The 
young men of the Church secured the presence of 
some of their young gentleman acquaintances who 
were not church-goers, and succeeded in making the 
hours pleasant for them. The music, which was ren- 
dered at different intervals each evening, was an en- 
tertaining feature with both old and young. The 
program which was given on the first Saturday night 
that the reading-room was open, was listened to by 
a fairly large audience. The Church was well repre- 
sented, and not a few strangers came in. At six 
o’clock on that Saturday evening, Mr. Bronson had 
caused the men of the factory to come into the main 
office, and, in a few words, had explained to them the 
object of the reading and entertainment rooms at 
the church, had expressed his desire that they would 
often come there, and had especially invited them to 
come in to the first short concert. He was gratified 
at seeing a number of his employees present at the 
concert. 

Just before the last number was given. Dr. Burns, 


“Really Insipid” 


119 

in behalf of the committee and the Church, thanked 
the strangers for their presence, explained quite fully 
the purpose of the undertaking, expressed the hope 
that they would become regular attendants at the 
rooms, and would encourage their friends to come 
in with them. ''And now,’’ said the doctor, "to close 
our program we are to sing 'Home, Sweet Home;’ 
and we want you all to help sing. You are familiar 
with the tune, and the printed cards in your chairs 
will furnish you with the words.” The singing which 
followed this invitation may not have been in perfect 
harmony, but it was an effort from the heart, and 
its effect was to inspire pure thoughts and to awaken 
sacred memories. 

"What was the matin’ loike, Willie?” asked Mrs. 
Wilson of her son when he returned from the enter- 
tainment. 

"It was like nothin’ I went to afore. There was a 
fine large room with a carpet on the floor an’ the 
awfulest lot of chairs you ever see, an’ a long four- 
legged pianer, what makes such soft-like music when 
Miss Bronson plays on it, an’ then sometimes it 
makes a rumblin’ like noise, as if low thunder was a 
good way off. Then there was purty pictures on the 
walls and lots of bright flowers what smell sweet. 
Then, at the left, there was another room with nicer 
carpet, an’ not near so many chairs, but nicer; an’ 
there was six or more tables sittin’ around in differ- 
ent places what had many books an’ papers on; an’ 
there was such nice pictures on the walls an’ such 
bright lights.” 

"But what war the folks doin’ all the toime, Wil- 
lie?” asked Mr. Wilson, who, lying on the lounge, 


120 As They Did It 

was much interested in the boy’s recital of what he 
had seen. 

“Why, they sung an’ they played, fine an’ quick 
like, on that pianer, an’ then they read some pieces 
to us, an’ then they spoke some. One nice an’ purty 
young woman — she was n’t so nice an’ purty as Miss 
Bronson, though — spoke a piece about a man’ an 
his wife. The man was good, only he would git 
drunk, like. An’ they had a little girl, an’ when she 
was old ’nough she would talk, an’ at night she would 
say, ‘Good-night, papa,’ an’ her papa kept gittin’ 
drunk like, an’ his little girl took sick an’ the man 
felt real bad, an’ the doctor thought she would git 
well. But she got worse right along. An’ one night, 
soon, she was awful sick, an’ she held to her papa 
an’ said, ‘Good-night, papa; Jessie see you in the 
mornin’.’ An’ that was the last she ever said to him, 
for she died afore mornin’. An’ this man felt great 
sorrow, for he knew that his little girl had gone to 
heaven an’ he could never see her any more except 
he should be good an’ go where Jessie was. So he 
would not git drunk like any more, an’ he thought he 
could hear her say to him all the time he lived, 
‘Good-night, papa; Jessie see you in the mornin’.’^ 
Some of the men where I work was there, an’ set 
near by me, an’ they cried afore that nice young 
woman was done talkin’ that piece to us. An’ it 
made me feel sad like, too ; but I liked it more ’n 
some other pieces. Then the preacher, he asked us 
all to come again, an’ to ask our friends to come 
along, too. An’ I heerd some of the workmen whis- 
per to each other that they would. Then when it 
was out they come around an’ shook our hand an’ 


‘‘Really Insipid’’ 


I2I 


said, ‘Glad you came in ; come again, please.’ Dr. 
Dunbarr was there. He sung a piece with three 
other young men, an’ it was so good that it made us 
laugh. An’ they had them come back again to sing. 
This last time they sung better than afore. Dr. Dun- 
barr, he shook hands with me afore I come home, an’ 
said : “Glad to see you here, Willie. On one of the 
tables in the other room are some books and papers 
that a boy like you will be pleased to read.’ ” 

“Well, Oi think it a foine place fur ye to be at, 
me b’y, an’ ye may go ag’in soom oother toime,” was 
his mother’s remark when Willie had finished. 

In accord with their plan, Mrs. Milford and her 
son reached Warden early in the afternoon of Feb- 
ruary eighteen. Mrs. Stevens feared that she would 
be considered unreasonable if she should urge her 
guests, so recently after their journey, to accompany 
her to church on the following Sunday ; but she was 
so eager to have them appreciate the religious and 
social condition of Warden that she ventured her 
request. 

“Certainly, my dear. It is our rule to attend di- 
vine service every Sabbath morning. We consider 
this one of the principal parts of our religious duty. 
We also are quite curious to look upon a Warden 
audience and to hear your pastor preach,” was Mrs. 
Milford’s cheerful reply. 

It was a beautiful morning. A large audience 
assembled. The choir sang well their wisely-chosen 
selections. Dr. Burns delivered a practical discourse 
with impressive animation. And Mrs. Stevens felt 
that many things combined favorably to impress her 
guests. She did not remain for the Sabbath-school, 


122 


As They Did It 

which immediately followed the morning service, hire, 
after introducing Mrs. and Mr. Milford to a few of 
her friends, she returned with them to her home. 

After luncheon, Mrs. Stevens requested that Wal- 
ter should give them his impressions of the morning 
service. With her request the young man willingly 
complied. 

'‘There were some features of the service which 
impressed me favorably,” began Mr. Milford. “It 
was a large, well-dressed, and apparently intelligent 
audience. The music was rendered well ; but the 
selections, while they were in harmony with the 
thought of the discourse, were not up to the standard 
of ideal church music. The young lady who sang a 
short solo in one of the anthems had a strong, rich, 
and, to some extent, cultured voice. By the way, 
who is she, please? I was quite pleased with her 
generally.” 

“She is the daughter of my most intimate friend, 
Mrs. Jerome Bronson, the only child of highly- 
respected and wealthy parents,” replied Mrs. Stevens, 
with perceptible animation. 

“The sermon,” continued Mr. Milford, “was ear- 
nest and vigorous; and its ideas were conveyed by 
well-chosen words ; but the thought of the sermon — 
and, therefore, the very sermon — was inferior. It 
dealt with matters which are common to every-day 
life, and twice it approached the life of very common 
people. Now, the fact is, we do not attend church to 
hear of the common affairs of life ; we have enough 
of them six days in the week. We attend divine 
service to have our thought carried away from com- 
mon life into the aesthetic realms of art, or to have 


“Really Insipid” 


123 


our lives thrilled by the marvelous achievements and 
the startling discoveries of science. We love the 
house of God because in it we are taught of the 
grandeur of earth, of the nobility of man, of the in- 
comprehensible glories of a heaven to come, and of 
the matchless wisdom and goodness of the great God, 
who stands immeasurably above the earth, and man, 
and heaven. The effort of the sermon seemed to be 
to convince us that the gospel bridges the chasms 
which are between individual lives, and places all 
mankind, at different points, upon a common thor- 
oughfare, graded, gently, to ascend; that they who 
are farthest up the grade are they who have re- 
ceived the most help, while they who are lowest down 
are they who have received the least. Now, Mrs. 
Stevens, you see the logical conclusion of such teach- 
ing. We are fellow-travelers with the most vulgar 
human creature. We have nothing, of ourselves, in 
which to glory, for we are what we are by virtue 
of the help that has been given to us ; and if we have 
power to help any fellow below us, no matter who 
he is, we are honor-bound to help him. You also 
readily see what would be the result if such teaching 
were obeyed ; society would be revolutionized. Par- 
don me if I have spoken freely. I could not comply 
with your kind request without speaking thus freely.^' 
'T thank you for your candid remarks, returned 
Mrs. Stevens. “I have been compelled of late to 
pass similar criticisms on my dear pastor. It is a 
new course that he has taken, and, I am sorry to say, 
many of our people are pleased to follow such teach- 
ing. I fear the results. I can not see any available 
remedy. Dr. Burns has entered upon this course 


124 


As They Did It 

after due consideration, and I can not expect him 
to change soon/’ 

^‘Your pastor may have been with you for a 
sufficiently long period. His Church may have out- 
grown him. Then, also, he is getting to be what the 
up-to-date Churches call an old man. Physically 
strong yet, probably a man of cultured and vigorous 
mind, mature judgment, and broad sympathies ; but 
he represents an earlier generation than this. A 
young man from one of our widely known Eastern 
institutions of learning may be your remedy,” sug- 
gested Mr. Milford. 

On the following Monday Mrs. Bronson and her 
daughter called upon Mrs. Stevens and her guests. 
The afternoon was bright and the walk was invigor- 
ating, although rather farther than Mrs. Bronson 
was wont to walk of late years. She was received by 
the Milfords as the most intimate friend of their 
hostess ; and they did not long conceal their awaken- 
ing interest in Gertrude. A few minutes passed in 
general conversation, and then the young people 
became engaged in the discussion of topics which 
were related more directly to themselves. 

‘‘The winter has been socially pleasant to you, 
Miss Bronson?” asked Mr. Milford. 

“Yes, sir; quite so. It seems that the holidays 
were but yesterday. I never enjoyed life more than 
within the past six weeks.” 

“Well, that is pleasing. You doubtless have the 
social life of Warden so well organized that affairs 
move with the precision of a perfect system. Will 
you mention some special features of interest ?” 

“Well, first, our Church began the year with a 


“Really Insipid” 


125 


series of special evangelistic services, which awak- 
ened a deep religious interest in our community. I 
was privileged to attend each one of these extras, 
and they were decidedly beneficial to me. Then, 
prompted by the spirit of these meetings, have come 
a number of new religious enterprises. Some of 
these have pleasurably taken my spare moments. 
And so time has flown. 

‘'Then you have not had any entertainment of a 
purely social nature. Miss Bronson?” 

“No — well, yes. Our Christian Endeavor Soci- 
ety went out into the country for a coasting party 
one beautiful night a fortnight ago. There was a 
large company of us, and all enjoyed the outing. 
In fact, Mr. Milford, the majority of the young peo- 
ple of our Church and society have been so engaged 
in religious matters that we may have neglected af- 
fairs of a purely social nature.” 

“Such neglect is unfortunate and may prove seri- 
ous, Miss Bronson. The effect of gay sociabilities, 
mirthful amusements, and arousing games is to drive 
the grave aspects of life away, to lift us into an in- 
vigorating realm, and to keep us young and brilliant. 
And I do not understand how a large company of 
healthful and intelligent young people can be so ab- 
sorbed in matters purely religious as to forget social 
life. To me, such a life seems decidedly unreal and 
really insipid. Do not think that I am denouncing 
religion,” he continued, smiling. “I am a Church 
member, and I prize my Church home highly ; but my 
religion was not intended to be a galling burden.” 

“Well,” answered Gertrude, “matters social and 
matters religious may be, and, I think, should be, 


126 


As They Did It 


beautifully blended. That is, in our religious activity 
we may exercise the most beautiful sociability. A 
truly Christiaji life is a life of real love. Real love is 
real life. And real life can not be spiritless. I am 
convinced, and I am happy as I act in accord with 
this conviction, that not to make our religion para- 
mount is to make it really insipid. But, Mr. Mil- 
ford, it occurs to me that we are conversing more 
after the manner of theological students than in ac- 
cord with the rules of society concerning the giving 
and receiving of the first ceremonious visit. How- 
ever, we have gained some knowledge of the views 
which we each hold concerning social life and re- 
ligion. This knowledge may prove of some service 
to each of us. I must remind mamma that it is time 
to end our call.’’ 

‘T am very pleased to have met you. Miss Bron- 
son. I trust that I may be privileged to meet you 
frequently while we are visiting in your city.” 

'‘Thank you, Mr. Milford. Our mammas are evi- 
dently enjoying the call. They are lost in their in- 
terest in each other.” She might have added, “But 
Mrs. Stevens seems interested in us.” 


CHAPTER IX 


Conspiracy 

“The wicked plotteth against the just.’* 

party which Mrs. Stevens proposed to give 
^ on the twenty-second of February in honor of 
her guests was now the subject which engaged that 
lady’s mind; and concerning the matter she coun- 
seled with Mrs. Bronson, not infrequently showing 
deference to her advice in arranging details. In an- 
swer to the question, “Whom shall we ask?” Mrs. 
Bronson said : “All of the principal young people of 
our Church and congregation, because we wish Mr. 
Milford’s influence to be extensive among us.” 

“Would you advise that Dr. Dunbarr be invited?” 
asked Mrs. Stevens. “He, of late, seems to be be- 
coming popular among the young people of our 
Church and society.” 

“No. We do not esteem him to be one of the 
principal young people of our society, and we wish 
to avoid conveying the impression that he is such.” 

“True enough, Mrs. Bronson, and I presume that 
his absence will not be noticed ; and if it is, they will 
be likely to think that he can not leave his office, or 
that he is busy with his patients. We shall need to 
invite some middle-aged people in honor of Mrs. 
Milford. We need not invite many, and should be 
127 


128 


As They Did It 


very discreet in our choice. We shall want Deacon 
Grimes and wife, as a matter of course. What others 
would you suggest 

'‘Deacon Holcomb is about Deacon Grimes's age, 
and he mingles considerably in society; it would be 
best to invite him and Mrs. Holcomb, would it not ?" 

“I had thought of Deacon Holcomb, and have 
reasons why we should and why we should not invite 
him. Mrs. Milford and son are city people, and are 
not accustomed to rural ways. Now, while Deacon 
Holcomb and wife are affable and decidedly well- 
informed, yet Mrs. Milford and son seldom meet 
people from the farm. Then, again, the deacon is 
among the foremost of those who are so completely 
carried away with the new and yet sad digressions 
of our Church. But Deacon Holcomb is quite pop- 
ular with our Church and society, and we may seri- 
ously offend some, if we do not invite him." 

“Yes," replied Mrs. Bronson, “if you invite Dea- 
con Grimes and not Deacon Holcomb, it might be 
difficult to render a satisfactory explanation. And 
had you thought of inviting our pastor?" 

“I confess that I have been uncomfortably exer- 
cised with that phase of the problem. I am sure that 
we are agreed that it would be better for our present 
purpose if Dr. Burns should not be with the young 
people on that occasion. He has so long been their 
guide in social and religious matters that they natu- 
rally and cheerfully look to him as their leader; and 
the very object that we are seeking is to lessen, if 
not to break, his influence over them. But to invite 
one or two of our deacons, and not to invite our 
pastor, would be to provoke the censure of many. 


Conspiracy 


129 


Circumstances seem to compel us to invite him, and 
we will gracefully do so. We can not expect every- 
thing to concur with our plans; neither must we 
expect too much from one social gathering. We 
must be patient, and content ourselves with small 
results at first. There is another matter, Mrs. Bron- 
son, concerning which I wish your advice ; would 
you think it advisable to serve wine with our refresh- 
ments? I am sure that Mrs. Milford and Walter are 
accustomed to wine on such occasions, and will think 
it strange if I do not provide it. But here comes the 
difficulty again — that new Church Temperance 
League, which Dr. Burns has introduced, has a total- 
abstinence pledge, and many, if not all, of the young 
people have signed it. So, what can a body do?” 

^Tt occurs to me, Mrs. Stevens, that your best 
way to proceed at this point is candidly to state to 
Mrs. Milford and her son, in your own discreet way, 
the true situation regarding the temperance senti- 
ment in our part of the city. They will then have an 
understanding of the matter, and you will be relieved 
from further embarrassment. At what hours have 
you decided to hold the reception?” 

‘‘Between the hours of seven and ten. If the 
young people seem so well entertained as to desire 
to stay later, we will cause it to be understood that 
ten o’clock was meant for the older people. I request 
that yourself and family come early so that we may 
have your aid in entertaining from the first.” 

“I trust that we shall be able to comply with your 
request. Your plans are all matured now, and you 
may anticipate a pleasurable reception.” 

Early in the afternoon of February twenty-second 
9 


130 


As They Did It 


Dr. Burns called at the home of Mrs. Stevens to 
meet her guests, and to state that it would not be 
convenient for him to attend the reception. He had 
that day received the intelligence that an old-time 
friend of his — a college mate — was to pass through 
the city, and would stop over one train, that he might 
spend the night with him. ‘‘Were he to prolong his 
visit,’’ said Dr. Burns, “with your permission, Mrs. 
Stevens, I would ask him to accompany me to the 
reception; but as it is I shall feel it my duty to re- 
main at home ; and you, being aware of the circum- 
stances, will kindly excuse me. I am glad to have 
met you, Mrs. and Mr. Milford, in the home of our 
common friend, and I trust that we shall meet fre- 
quently while you sojourn in our city.” 

Late in the afternoon a note from Deacon Hol- 
comb and wife informed Mrs. Stevens that they, by 
virtue of a previous engagement, were to have charge 
of the reading-room at the church that night, and 
would, therefore, be compelled to decline her kind 
invitation. 

Mrs. Bronson, in company with her husband and 
daughter, came promptly at seven o’clock, much to 
the pleasure of Mrs. Stevens. They were the first 
guests to arrive, and therefore had Mrs. Milford and 
her son all to themselves for a time. Mrs. Stevens 
took Mrs. Bronson aside, and informed her that 
neither their pastor nor Deacon Holcomb would be 
present, giving her the reasons. “It seems,” she con- 
cluded, “that our desires are being realized. Should 
we not esteem ourselves providentially favored?” 

“Indeed we may. How singular it is that the very 
ones who we thought might retard our effort, are 


Conspiracy 


131 

unavoidably detained ! It is in accord with the teach- 
ings of our religion that nothing comes by accident, 
but that all is directed by the wise, over-ruling 
Power/^ 

And thus these friends seemed encouraged l)y 
the application of their religious faith. 

The company began to gather more rapidly now, 
and soon the home of Mrs. Stevens abounded with 
happy, intelligent life. Walter Milford was greeted 
with that open-hearted ease with which one meets 
an equal ; for it never occurred to one of the young- 
people of Warden that Mr. Milford was a superior. 
They conversed fluently upon current topics, dis- 
cussed, animatedly, the recent destruction of the 
battleship Maine in the harbor of Havana, and ex- 
pressed different opinions concerning the future rela- 
tions between Spain and the United States with such 
evident intelligence and manifest breadth of informa- 
tion that Mr. Milford found himself called forth to 
his limit to prove himself their equal. He was im- 
pressed, also, with their unassumed interest in relig- 
ion ; for they addressed themselves to religious topics 
with remarkable familiarity and pleasure, and seldom 
dismissed such subjects until they had led him to 
express his views and had invited him to attend their 
religious services. 

'T am favorably impressed with the general in- 
telligence of the young people of Warden,” remarked 
Mr. Milford to Marian Mills, as they stood together 
near a large window in the drawing-room. ^Tndeed 
I feel them to be intellectually brilliant. They also 
seem to be decidedly religious.” 

‘‘Thank you, Mr. Milford, for your unstinted com- 


132 


As They Did It 


pliments ; but I am sure our young people make no 
pretensions to such excellence/’ 

^‘No, evidently not ; the whole thing is a matter 
of course with them. They are beautifully ignorant 
that they are of so high a type.” 

‘'We are certainly a very happy company, and I 
suggest that it may be best for our enjoyment and 
usefulness that our 'beautiful ignorance’ be not dis- 
turbed.” 

"I am not sure that we shall agree at that point, 
Miss Mills. I think it is frequently best for a young 
lady, especially, to become aware of her ability and 
power.” 

"I am in doubt as to that view of the case, Mr. 
Milford; but I am persuaded that it is frequently 
good for a young person to know how ignorant and 
powerless he is.” 

"Well, after all, I presume that to knov/ the exact 
truth of the situation is the right knowledge for us. 
Can we compromise on that view of the subject. 
Miss Mills?” 

"I think we can, but that knowledge is not easily 
obtained. Turning from this subject, I wish to ask 
you about some phases of Church work in the East. 
Has your Church or Christian Endeavor Society any 
new methods of work?” 

"None that I am familiar with. To be frank, 
Miss Mills, I do not favor the so-called new methods 
of religious work.” 

"But, Mr. Milford, almost every other enterprise 
under the sun is apt in the application of new meth- 
ods ; and why should not the Church keep step? In- 
deed, must she not make use of all new and useful 


Conspiracy 133 

means, if she would commend herself to the intelli- 
gent people of this age?” 

''The other affairs to which you allude are of a 
secular character, and must operate in accord with 
social and industrial usages and laws, competition 
being one of the chief means compelling such a 
course. But religion, having a holy origin, and ex- 
isting for a sacred purpose, is lifted above industrial 
law and beyond gross competition. It, therefore, 
should never be subjected to the changes consequent 
to the adoption of new methods. The Church, by 
the use of its primitive methods, has gotten to itself 
a wonderful history, beautifully set in marvelous re- 
sults.” 

"But you certainly have forgotten your history of 
religion, Mr. Milford. Has not frequent change — 
passing from the old to the new — characterized the 
religion of Divine origin in all its history? The his- 
tory of the Hebrew Nation portrays progress, which 
was accomplished through successive changes. The 
coming of the Christ, in the fullness of time, was 
quite revolutionary, because it provoked such a rad- 
ical turning from the old to the new. The Reforma- 
tion, inaugurated by Luther, while it was in sub- 
stance a simple turning again to the primitive doc- 
trines of Christ, yet to the people of Luther’s 
generation it was a mad departure from the venerable 
and thoroughly-established customs of religion. 
And, at the first, many good people opposed the 
modern Christian Endeavor movement, because it 
was so unlike the established manner of procedure. 
Yet all of these changes have marked epochs in the 
progress of religion and Christianity.” ♦ 


134 


As They Did It 


“I will not attempt to answer you at length/^ re- 
plied Mr. Milford, '‘but I do desire, in a general way, 
to express my views of the Christian Endeavor move- 
ment ; and I do so understanding that my views are 
unpopular. The enterprise aims at the impossible — 
the reduction of the merriment of childhood and the 
gayety and buoyancy of youth to a system of rules, 
and to bind young life with a pledge, which some- 
times, and quite appropriately too, is called ‘cast- 
iron.’ It is like the confining to eternal non-growth 
the foot of the Chinese child. It is an attempt to 
make us old before our time. If this binding process 
were as widespread as it appears to be, future gener- 
ations would be seriously affected. But the fact is, a 
great per cent of those who profess to be bound are 
not ; the justifiable rebellion of their natures prevents 
such bondage.” 

“Pardon me, Mr. Milford, but I do feel that your 
views of this matter are very erroneous. The effort 
of Christian Endeavor is that the young may grow 
up into beautiful accord with Christ, and that those 
who have wandered away may be brought back to 
him. Now, the Christ has been in the world long 
enough to prove, beyond a question, that he is the 
fountain-head of all true life, and that the life that 
has been kept in accord or brought into harmony 
with him, is the only truly natural life — a life to 
which unperverted nature yields all her charms. The 
pledge of which you speak is expressive of principles 
operative in a well-regulated Christian life ; and they 
who thoughtfully take this pledge, and conscien- 
tiously keep it, do not find themselves in the thrall- 
dom of ‘cast-iron’ bondage, but, rather, in the beau- 


Conspiracy 


135 


tiful liberty of the Christian. Again, Mr. Milford, 
it is a grave charge that you make against the young 
people of the Christian Endeavor movement. You 
certainly must have had far greater opportunity to 
detect hypocrites than I have had. I am acquainted 
with our young people, and I am persuaded that they 
are, in the main, what they profess to be, and I have 
the same convictions regarding the genuineness ot 
the many Endeavorers whom I have been privileged 
to meet.’' 

As Miss Mills was ending this sentence. Miss 
Bronson, in company with a lady friend, approached 
and said gayly : “Come, Marian, you must not monop- 
olize Mr. Milford; we all are to share his society 
to-night.” 

“Surely, there is no attempt at monopoly, Ger- 
trude. Mr. Adilford and I were exchanging views,” 
Marian replied, pleasantly. 

“Judging from the earnest expression of your 
countenances, you each had views to exchange; but 
that is invariably true with strong-minded people,” 
replied Gertrude. 

“It is well that you joined us. Miss Bronson, or 
we might have continued our exchange of views in- 
definitely. You have helped us to place our period, 
and we are willing to distribute ourselves as you may 
direct; are we not. Miss Mills?” 

“Certainly, Mr. Milford; Miss Gertrude’s coming 
affords us a happy pretext for a retreat with equal 
honors. We must now atone for our momentary 
isolation.” 

And soon they were engaged, here and there, in 
general conversation. 


136 


As They Did It 

While partaking of refreshments, Mr. Milford sat 
with his mother near Mr. Bronson and family, and 
the two gentlemen conversed quite freely. Gertrude 
watched her father closely; for she knew, if he had 
not already done so, he would now form his opinion 
of the young man ; and, of late, there were but few 
questions so important to her as, “What does papa 
think?’’ and she was beginning to feel that she knew 
his face so well that she could read his very thoughts. 

After the repast, Mrs. Bronson and Mrs. Stevens 
withdrew from the company and sat together for a 
few minutes. “What impressions is Mr. Milford 
making and receiving?” asked Mrs. Bronson. 

“Of course I can not determine positively, but 
the young people of Warden do not seem to appre- 
ciate that he is a superior, but, rather, they seem to 
be his equal in every respect ; while Mr. Milford, on 
his part, seems to understand that he must be at his 
best. I have overheard some of the conversation 
and discussions ; and I have been impressed that he is 
not the equal of some of our young people in general 
information and in judgment. He may not be able 
materially to change the views of the young people 
of our Church, and yet his influence over Gertie may 
be marked. They seem fo enjoy each other. You 
notice that they are now conversing spiritedly to- 
gether. We must wait for future developments. The 
reception has brought him into contact with our soci- 
ety, and all has gone on without a discord.” 

A little before ten o’clock the guests began to 
depart, and soon Mrs. Stevens was alone with her 
Eastern friends. 

“Quite an accomplished company of young peo- 


Conspiracy 


137 


pie the First* Church of Warden has, Mrs. Stevens,’’ 
remarked Walter Milford. “But I should like to 
meet them in a less formal gathering, and ascertain 
their aptness at more definite entertainment and 
amusements.” 

‘We may be able to arrange for a less formal 
gathering while you are with us,” was Mrs. Stevens’s 
reply. 

Alone in her room Gertrude Bronson sat for 
many minutes, in earnest thought, before she retired 
that night. When, presumably, she had reached the 
climax of her meditation, she spoke softly: “I won- 
der where Harmon Dunbarr is to-night? I wonder 
if he was invited to attend the reception, or was he 
utterly ignored? No one spoke of his absence, but, 
likely, many noticed it. I surely did. Walter Milford 
is an accomplished man of society, and, they say, has 
inherited wealth. But Dr. Dunbarr’s silent presence 
is expressive of more true soul-worth than all of Mr. 
Milford’s well-chosen words and carefully-embel- 
lished sentences have power to denote. Mr. Milford 
failed to awaken in papa any deep admiration. I 
thoroughly respect one of whom my father’s face 
plainly says, ‘Here is a true man.’ And this is the 
language of papa’s face when he is in the presence of 
Dr. Dunbarr. He may have been caring for some 
sufferer to-night, while we were enjoying society. 
He may have been helping some outcast back to 
health and a better life. He seems so much alone, 
even when he is in society. I wonder — I wonder — 
if he has left his heart somewhere ?” And she looked 
once more upon the beautiful picture which hung 
upon the wall of her room, and a teardrop fell from 


As They Did It 


^38 

her long lashes, and then, slowly, she spoke again : 
“There is portrayed springtime, full of promise, full 
of hope. And these are not in vain; for springtime 
quietly passes into summer, and promises are fulfilled 
and hopes are realized.’' 

The following Friday was one of those pleasant 
days when the sun begins to assert his power, and 
winter is compelled to relax his icy grasp. Early in 
the afternoon Thomas Wilson remarked to his wife : 

“Oi think Oi ’ll walk oot a bit ; it sames so foine 
loike oot o’ doors.” 

“But ye will not be fur walkin’ a long way, will 
ye, Tom? Ye know that ye have walked but a short 
way as yet,” was Mrs. Wilson’s reply. 

“Oi would loike to go to Dr. Dunbarr’s office ; 
an’ that ’s but a bit o’ a distance.” 

“Quite a bit 6v a way, Tom, fur a wake mon. Ye 
must take yer cane an’ walk slow loike.” 

As Wilson was walking leisurely along, he met 
Mike Patterson, whose pleasure at seeing Tom out 
again was expressed, in part, by his hearty greeting : 
“A roight good day to ye, Tom. It ’s moighty glad 
that Oi am to sae ye oot a’gin;” and he shook Tom’s 
hand vigorously. “And where are ye goin’, Tom?” 

“O, Oi ’m jist goin’ to call upon Dr. Dunbarr a 
little toime.” 

'Why do ye go there? Ye nade no more of his 
hilp ; an’ he ’s but a bit loiked be manny ov oor 
friends. An’ soom ov the s’loon-kapers say they ’ll 
put him oot ov the way.” 

“An’ what kin they have agin him, sure? He’s 
me very bist friend, an’ Oi war jist goin' to pay him 
a call o’ friendship.” 


Conspiracy 


139 


‘^Och, but he middles wid the paceful s'loon busi- 
ness ; an^ he lades the perlice to make harests. Soom 
six loike has been harested this wake. An’ they say 
that no single docthor withoot manny friends kin’t 
boother them the loikes ov that. So they say they ’ll 
put him oot ov the way.” 

^^But how an’ whin, Moike, will they put him oot 
o’ the way?” 

“Oi kin ’t tell ye, Tom. Oi only haerd the much 
that Oi told to ye. Ye look wary, Tom; coom along 
wid me to a s’loon an’ Oi ’ll give ye a dhrink to brace 
ye oop a bit. Ye nade it, sure, Tom.” 

'‘No; Oi ’m to brace oop anoother way, Moike, 
an’ me old friends nade niver to thrate me the more, 
at all, at all.” 

"But ye nade the bracin’ jist 1100, Tom, an’ ye ha’ 
bist to coom along wid me.” 

At this they heard the sound of footsteps back of 
them ; and, as they turned, they saw Dr. Dunbarr 
approaching. 

"There cooms the docthor noo; an’ its glad to 
sae him that Oi am,” remarked Wilson. 

Dunbarr greeted the men in his usual frank man- 
ner, and then addressed Wilson as follows : "Out to 
enjoy this bright sun and warm afternoon, are you, 
Wilson? You must not attempt too much at first. 
Is there any particular place for which you had 
started?” 

"Yis, Oi war coomin’ oop to yer office fur a little 
visit wid yez.” 

"That ’s too long a walk for you. You are pale 
and quite weary now. I am going down your way, 
and perhaps you had best to walk back with me.” 


140 


As They Did It 


“Oi do n’t moind if Oi do walk back wid yez, fur 
Oi foind that Oi ’m moighty wake yit. A good day 
to yez, Moike. Oi thank yez fur yer koind intention 
to me ; but yez must kape in moind that no mon must 
thrate Tom Wilson no more, at all, at all. Jist tell 
the b’ys that Tom ’s sakin’ to brace oop anoother 
way.” 

As he walked slowly back to his home in company 
with the doctor, Wilson related what Mike Patterson 
had told him about the saloon-keepers’ hatred, and 
that they were planning to put Dunbarr ‘‘out of the 
way;” as they phrased it. Dunbarr was disposed to 
treat the matter lightly, and said in reply : “That can 
not be, Wilson; there certainly is some mistake. No 
one in Warden would molest a man for doing his 
duty. Do not give yourself a moment’s uneasiness 
over such a report.” 

“Do n’t desave yersilf, Docthor. Them s’loon- 
kapers is an oogly set whin yez git a pool [pull] on 
to ’m fraquently.” 

“But I have no reason to fear them. I have only 
done what seems to be my duty as a citizen of War- 
den and as a member of the Law-enforcement Com- 
mittee of the Anti-saloon League. We have had in- 
fluence with some of our civil oflicers, and they, of 
late, have been a little more active in the discharge 
of their duty. I have been directly responsible for 
only two or three arrests. As I said, I have only 
done my duty, and I shall continue this course.” 

“Well, docthor, moind what Oi ’m sayin’ to yez; 
it ’s no good they bode yez, an’ yez must be watchin’ 
oot fur ’m.” 

“Here we are at your home, Wilson, and you are 


Conspiracy 


141 

weary enough, I am sure ; but just a word before you 
go in. Did Patterson offer to take you to a saloon 
for a drink?'' 

“Yis, he did, sure ; an' Oi said. No, Moike ; yez 
must not thrate Tom Wilson no more ; fur Oi 'm 
sakin' to brace oop anoother way." 

‘'That was right, Tom. Just hold to that ground, 
and you will gain a glorious victory. But as you said 
to me, you must look out for them — I mean your old 
friends — for they will tempt you to drink with them." 

“Oi 'm moindin' all yer koind words, Docthor, 
an' Oi thank yez fur 'm. An' Oi moind the good 
words shpoken to me by Miss Bronson. She talked 
to me foine, Docthor; Oi wish yez could heerd her." 

“All of your true friends will do what they can 
to help you. Did Miss Bronson speak to you of the 
Christ, and of the help that he can give you?" 

“Indade she did, sure. An' she said that Oi nade 
not faer to coom to him fur hilp, fur that all moight 
coom to him. An' then she said, ‘Will yez not coom, 
Mr. Wilson ?' An' Oi moind Oi said, ‘Oi 'll try. 
Miss.' Her words to me has been in me moind, an' 
me word to her; an' now Oi 'm sakin' to try." 

“You need his help, Tom; we all need his help;" 
and he took Wilson's hand kindly, and then went his 
way. 

At five o'clock on the following Monday after- 
noon, Willie Wilson came into Mr. Bronson's office. 
Mr. Gray, the foreman, had granted him permission 
to do so. He was somewhat embarrassed at finding 
Miss Bronson there; but he rallied his courage, and 
introduced his mission to the office as follows : 

“My father told me to come to you an' tell you 


142 


As They Did It 


what I have heerd. The saloon men are mad at the 
temperance people, an' they hate Dr. Dunbarr be- 
cause he works ag'in' them so. Yisterday an' last 
night I heerd them talkin' how they would put the 
doctor out of the way. They did not notice me much, 
because I am a young boy, an' at night I stood in the 
dark. I heerd them say that now would be a good 
time to meet him at some bridge, an' to git away 
with him, because the snow is meltin' fast an' the 
water is gittin' high an' the nights is dark. They said 
that out in the country would be the best place, an' 
that they would watch his office slate to know about 
where he is gone. An' I heerd them say that he has 
a patient in the country now, an' that the very first 
time he should happen out there in the night, would 
be their time. Father said I should go to his office 
an’ tell him; but if I did not see him, to tell you. I 
went to his office at noon, but he was out, an' I run 
to his office a few minutes ago — Mr. Gray let me 
off for about fifteen minutes — but the doctor was not 
in, an’ his slate said : 'Gone into the country, west. 
May not return till eight P. M.' " 

'T thank you, Willie, for coming to me with this 
matter. Tell your father that I will act promptly. 
Tell no one else anything about it.” 

As Willie left the office, Gertrude asked : “Papa, 
do you think that Dr. Dunbarr is in danger ?” 

“Not in so great danger as the boy's talk would 
indicate ; yet I am aware that the liquor men hate 
him,” answered Mr. Bronson, turning toward his 
daughter; and then asked, hastily, “Gertrude^ are 
you ill?” 

“I am not ill, papa/* 


Conspiracy 


143 


'‘If you are able, I will ask you to go home with- 
out me. I shall investigate the matter that Willie 
has spoken of, before I come home.’' 

"I am very well, and can go home alone. I want 
you to stay, papa, and investigate as you have said.” 

At six o’clock, a boy brought the following note 
from Mr. Bronson to his wife and daughter; “I may 
not be home till late in the night. Do not worry.” 


CHAPTER X 


Foiled 


* ‘ Many are the afflictions of the righteous ; but the Lord delivereth 
him out of them all. ’ ’ 


N leaving Gertrude, Mr. Bronson went inimedi- 



ately to the chief of police, and related what he 
had heard concerning a plot against Dunbarr. The 
chief knew nothing of such a conspiracy, and pre- 
sumed that these suspicions were groundless ; but he 
was disposed to give the matter some attention, in- 
asmuch as Mr. Bronson had personally introduced 
it. At that time there chanced to be present a police- 
man upon whose round Dunbarr’s office was situated, 
and the chief referred the matter to him, asking if 
he had seen anything that would arouse such sus- 
picions as Mr. Bronson had expressed. The officer’s 
answer was substantially as follows : 

'^As I patrolled the street upon which the doctor’s 
office is located^ I met two men whom I never saw 
in our city prior to yesterday. Their personal appear- 
ance and their conduct fixed my attention upon them. 
Late last night I saw them in company with Job 
Wilkes in earnest discussion of a subject which they 
evidently thought required great secrecy. Twice to- 
day — once this forenoon and once this afternoon — 
I saw them visit Dunbarr’s office. At a quarter be- 
fore five this afternoon I entered the doctor’s office. 


Foiled 


145 

soon after these strangers had been there, and the 
notice which was written on his slate read, ^Gone into 
the country, west. May not return until eight P. M.’ 
I noticed that these men went from the office directly 
to Bartlett’s livery barn. I learned from one of the 
employees at the barn that they had engaged to take 
a livery, and that they wished it in readiness at seven 
o’clock, sharp.” 

“Nothing in that report to allay suspicions, 
surely,” replied the chief, “and we ’ll follow that trail 
a little way. Let ’s see. If I understand you, Mr. 
Bronson, the supposed plot is as follows : Dunbarr 
is to be met on his return trip, at some bridge which 
spans a swollen stream. There he is to be handled 
roughly, and then, with his conveyance, is to be 
tumbled into the water. Then, to cover all suspicion, 
it is probable that a portion of the bridge will be torn 
up and thrown into the stream. Now about two 
miles west of the city the Cedar Creek crosses the 
principal street which runs west from the city, and 
at this time the creek is assuming the proportions of 
a river. If I remember, the bridge at that point is 
not in very good repair.. About one mile north of 
this road, and running parallel with it for about two 
miles, until a north-and-south road is reached, is 
another east-and-west road ; but this road crosses 
Cedar Creek within the city limits, and the bridge at 
this crossing would not be so favorable for such a 
supposed tragedy. And it is more than likely that 
Dunbarr’s route is on the principal east-and-west 
thoroughfare. I would suggest the following 
course,” continued the chief. “Bently, who has 
already marked these two suspicious strangers, 
10 


146 


As They Did It 

should be at Bartlett’s barn to ascertain if they take 
a livery at seven o’clock, and, if they do, to report in 
what direction they leave the city. I think, Mr. Bron- 
son, that the sheriff should be informed of our sus- 
picions and of the clue that we are working upon, 
and that the matter should be placed in his charge. 
I think that it will be wise to have a livery engaged, 
and that the sheriff, in company with one or two 
others, should be ready to follow them, if these sus- 
pected fellows drive westward from the city about 
seven o’clock. It will be necessary to act promptly, 
for it is now six o’clock.” 

''I will see the sheriff,” said Mr. Bronson, '"and 
Officer Bently may telephone me at the sheriff’s 
office.” 

In reply to Mr. Bronson’s statement, the sheriff 
said : "I know that among the liquor-dealers there is 
a bitter hatred of Dunbarr. He has been very active 
in this new temperance movement, and the arrests 
that he has caused have been followed by convictions 
and quite heavy fines. Job Wilkes is none too good 
to seek revenge by punishing the doctor severely, 
but I had not thought that his hatred had gone as 
far as the suspicions which you have expressed 
would indicate. However, we will act upon the sug- 
gestions made by the chief of police, if Officer Bently 
telephones us that these suspicious characters have 
taken a rig and gone west out of the city. I will take 
a deputy and another man with me. Whom would 
you suggest to accompany us as a third party, Mr. 
Bronson ?” 

"I wish to be that person, unless you have some 
particular one in view. I can at least look after the 


Foiled 


147 

horses, if you and the deputy should happen to be 
otherwise engaged,” was Mr. Bronson’s reply. 

‘‘That arrangement will please me, Mr. Bronson ; 
but it had not occurred to me that you would care 
to go out into the country. Your presence will give 
dignity to the occasion,” added the sheriff, humor- 
ously. 

Mr. Bronson, maintaining his usual serious air, 
replied : “Dunbarr has so isolated himself from popu- 
lar society, and has lived such a quiet life since he 
came to our city, that many have the opinion that he 
has but few friends ; and the saloon element, while 
it fears his straightforward fearlessness, has con- 
cluded that the doctor has no one to take his part, 
and that few, if any, would miss him very much if he 
should suddenly disappear. But the fact is, his re- 
markable skill in his profession is gaining for him 
true notoriety, and his character is such that no other 
young man in the city, of whom I have knowledge, 
is winning friends from the best of society so rapidly 
as he. Such a young man must not fall a prey to 
the worst element in society. Our city needs a mul- 
titude of such as he. There may be little or no foun- 
dation to the suspicions which we are acting upon, 
yet I feel we should take no chances.” 

At seven-fifteen Bently telephoned the sheriff as 
follows : “One of the men whom I suspect came for 
the livery. He drove east two blocks, and was there 
joined by his companion. They then went south one 
block, and turned west on Jackson Street, as if in- 
tending to leave the city. After turning west they 
drove rapidly. They are strong men, and I believe 
them to be reckless characters.” 


148 


As They Did It 


“Well, now is the time for us to move,” said the 
sheriff ; and he telephoned Bently his plan as follows : 
“The bridge across Cedar Creek, two miles out, 
may be their chosen point. We shall act upon that 
hypothesis. I, in company with two men, shall im- 
mediately leave the city, driving westward on the 
road which runs parallel with Jackson Street, until 
I reach the north-and-south road, two miles west. 
This north-and-south road crosses the Jackson Street 
thoroughfare about ten rods west of the bridge. We 
hope to make this crossing in time to intercept 
Dunbarr.” 

Though the sheriff had a strong and fleet team, 
yet, in some places, he found it impossible to drive 
rapidly. It was not sleighing, neither was it good 
wheeling, and they proceeded with difficulty. 

“I fear that it will be impossible for us to reach 
the crossing before eight o'clock,” remarked the 
deputy. “We have a full mile to drive yet, and there 
have been such deep snowdrifts on this north-and- 
south road that there is enough snow remaining to 
make the wheeling very poor.” 

“It may be, also, that bad roads will delay Dun- 
barr somewhat,” replied Mr. Bronson. 

“We must drive as fast as possible until we are 
within twenty rods of the crossing, and then we must 
slow up and approach as noiselessly as may be,” 
said the sheriff. “My plan is to leave the team with 
Mr. Bronson, near the crossing, and we two will go 
as noiselessly as we can down towards the bridge and 
reconnoiter a little ; the wind, blowly stoutly from 
the southeast, will carry the sound of our approach 
from any one who may be at the bridge.” 


Foiled 


149 


The deputy urged on the team to a rate of speed 
which was hazardous on such a road, the uncertain 
footing causing the horses to tiounder frequently, 
and the remnant of the snowdrifts often threatened 
the overthrow of the vehicle. 

^^We must slacken our speed now,” remarked the 
sheriff, “for we are nearing the crossing. There; 
we will stop here. Mr. Bronson, you may take 
charge of the horses. What is that? Some one is 
passing the crossing and is driving towards the 
bridge. I hear the sound of horses' feet and the 
rumbling of carriage-wheels, and I think that I can 
detect a moving object. It may be Dunbarr. If I 
were certain I would call to him. Come, now, Lum- 
bard, we will make a rush for the bridge.” 

As they ran they heard a man call out “Whoa!” 
and this was followed by a thud like that occasioned 
by the overthrow of a carriage and the hurling of its 
contents upon the frozen ground. Rushing down the 
grade, the sheriff and his deputy came upon Dun- 
barr's horse, which was facing the west, and was at- 
tached to the overturned carriage. About three rods 
nearer the bridge they saw the form of a man lying 
in the road, and a few feet farther down they saw 
a man arise from the ground and move, with diffi- 
culty, towards the bridge. ' The sheriff turned the 
light of his dark lantern upon the face of the first 
body he approached, and in an instant recognized 
Dunbarr. He then started in pursuit of the retreat- 
ing man, but found that he had crossed the bridge 
and was being helped into a vehicle that, evidently, 
had been in waiting for him. The driver instantly 
cracked his whip and the horse bounded away into 


150 As They Did It 

the darkness. “Halt called the sheriff ; “halt, or I 
will shoot and the next instant the discharge of a 
revolver rang out upon the night air. There came a 
groan and a curse from the retreating parties, and 
soon they were out of sight and reach of the officer. 
When the sheriff returned he found that Mr. Bronson 
had driven to the spot, and, with Lumbard, was bend- 
ing over Dunbarr. 

“Is he dead?’' asked the sheriff, in excited voice. 

“No, his heart is beating, though feebly. I think 
that he is thoroughly stunned, but will revive soon,” 
answered Mr. Bronson. “Here is a deep wound over 
his left temple, which may mean something serious. 
I can not say as to that.” 

At this Dunbarr groaned, and, opening his eyes, 
was greatly bewildered for a moment. Then he rec- 
ognized the three men that bent over him, and spoke 
to each of them. 

When he addressed Mr. Bronson he tried to ex- 
tend his hand, saying, as he did so : “How strange 
it is that you should be out here at this time of the 
night ! What does it all mean ? Can you by some 
means help me to a little cold water? I feel faint. 
There is a flask in my medicine-grip that will aid 
you in getting water. The grip should be in my car- 
riage ; but where is the carriage ?” The horse, hear- 
ing his master’s voice, neighed in answer to it, and 
Dunbarr, faint as he was, replied, “I hear you, Joe.” 

“Your grip. Doctor, together with the cushion 
of your carriage seat, are here by your side. They 
evidently came out of the carriage when you did,” 
remarked Deputy Lumbard. 

“Now,” said Dunbarr, after taking some water. 


Foiled 


151 

will first see what is the trouble with me, and 
then we will determine how and why the whole thing 
happened/’ 

“There is a deep wound over your left temple, 
Doctor,” said Mr. Bronson. 

“Yes; it was that thump which stunned me so, 
I presume. But my left arm is injured. It is either 
out of joint at the elbow, or it is broken; possibly 
both. Let ’s see,” he said, as he examined the injured 
arm with his right hand. “Yes, there is a dislocation, 
and, likely, a fracture also. We will go to the city 
to repair that. But you may bathe my temple with 
water, then close the wound as completely as you 
can, and then we will hold it closed with some strips 
of court-plaster, which you will find in my grip.” 

While Lumbard and Mr. Bronson were attending 
upon Dunbarr, the sheriff inspected the bridge. He 
found that six planks had been detached, making it 
impracticable as a crossing. This was the only im- 
portant discovery that he could make in the dark- 
ness. He sought in vain for the missing planks, and 
therefore informed his companions that it would be 
necessary to return to the city by the way that they 
had come — “the farthest way around,” said he. “But 
we must stop at the first farmhouse, and send a man 
to place a lighted lantern on the bridge as a signal 
of danger.” 

“Is my carriage broken?” asked Dunbarr when 
his head was dressed. 

“That is yet to be ascertained,” answered the 
sheriff. “I noticed, when we were running to you, 
that it was thrown half-way over, and that one shaft 
was nearly upon your horse’s back. Can you tell 


152 


As They Did It 


what caused the overturning of your carriage and the 
right-about-face of your horse?’’ 

‘^Certainly ; that is soon told. I was driving down 
toward the bridge rather rapidly, for the road is 
much better here than it is in many other places. 
When I reached a point a few feet above this place 
where I am sitting, a man sprang out from those few 
bushes, evidently intending to catch my horse by 
the bridle. But Joe stopped suddenly, reared, and 
struck with both of his fore feet, and then turned 
abruptly around to the right. He hit the fellow, for 
I saw him fall. I was thrown forward, striking upon 
my head and left arm. Just before I landed I spoke 
the word ‘Whoa’ to my horse. If the man had not 
staggered backward before he fell, we should have 
reached the ground nearly at the same place. This 
is the extent of my story. You know better what 
followed than I do; for when I came to my senses 
you were caring for me. My arm is painful, and 
should be cared for. I wish to start for the city im- 
mediately.” 

Dunbarr’s carriage was not incapacitated. He 
asked that one of the men might ride with him and 
handle the reins, for he needed his right hand to sup- 
port his left arm in as comfortable a position as pos- 
sible. Mr. Bronson promptly took his place at the 
doctor’s side, and drove for him into the city. On 
the way he remarked: 

‘Tn the time of our Savior and his disciples it 
seemed inevitable that many should suffer for right- 
eousness’ sake. This was because the practical ap- 
plication of the principles which Christ taught was 
a comparatively new thing under the sun, and 


Foiled 


IS3 


brought about so many radical changes in the social 
as well as the religious world. But now that the gos- 
pel of Christ has been taught and practiced for all 
these centuries, it does not seem credible that one 
should suffer for righteousness’ sake.” 

'‘I am ignorant as to what particular case your 
thought alludes, Mr. Bronson; but it seems to me 
that so long as evil reigns in the life of any one, there 
is likely to be suffering for righteousness' sake — per- 
secution of the righteous. I think it is as true to-day 
as it was when St. Paul declared it, ‘All that will live 
godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution,' al- 
though the persecution may not be so public and 
widespread as in the early history of the Church. 
Two great facts are here, good and evil, and these 
can never dwell together in harmony. They are in- 
compatible. When good is aggressive, it is quite 
likely to be met by positive and aggressive evil.” 

“Undoubtedly you have stated the philosophy of 
the matter. Doctor, and your experience to-night is 
a plain exhibition of aggressive good being met by 
positive evil.” 

“But, Mr. Bronson, you certainly err in your ap- 
plication. My experience seems to have been an 
accident — shrouded in some mystery, I admit; that 
is, I do not know what business that fellow had hid 
away in those bushes, nor what his intent was when 
he tried to catch my horse by the head. Neither can 
I tell you why you three men were out here at the 
Cedar-creek bridge so late at night; and, as I think 
of the affair, I wonder that I have not insisted upon 
an explanation before this. But I was stunned for a 
time, and have been in pain since. The rush which 


1^4 As They Did It 

that fellow made for him frightened my horse, and 
caused him to bolt and to overturn the carriage. Of 
course, my own momentum carried me forward, and 
the force of gravitation brought me upon the ground. 
As I have said, this unpleasant experience of mine 
is a very simple problem, aside from those two un- 
certain factors that I have mentioned.’’ 

“Our more perfect understanding of the whole 
matter eliminates the uncertain factors, and leaves 
us a problem easy of solution, which solution I have 
given you : aggressive good was met by positive 
evil.” And Mr. Bronson then made a full statement 
of the matter, beginning with the fears that had 
first been entertained by Willie Wilson. “You see, 
Dr. Dunbarr,” concluded Mr. Bronson, “that evi- 
dence, both direct and circumstantial, makes it clear 
that the saloon element in our city intended to end 
your career to-night. We may thank the All-Father, 
whose eye is ever upon his children, that he, operat- 
ing through human instruments, has delivered you 
from the power of the wicked.” 

“But, Mr. Bronson_, there must be some mis- 
take in this. It does not seem possible that there 
is an element in our city that will deliberately plan 
to waylay a law-abiding citizen and try to take his 
life. Here we are in the city at last. You may 
please drive to the office of Dr. Beach. He is a 
skillful surgeon and a true friend of mine.” 

They were gratified at finding the doctor in his 
office. He greeted Dunbarr cheerfully, saying : 
“Well, my dear fellow, what sort of a wreckage have 
you encountered? Been driving too fast, as usual? 


Foiled 


155 


These neither-sleighing* neither-wheeling roads de- 
mand a slower pace. Well, sir” — after an examina- 
tion of Dunbarr^s arm — you have a bad dislocation 
here at the elbow, and possibly a fracture also — a 
dislocation of both radius and ulna, backward ; and, 
I think, a fracture of the olecranon. Will you have 
an anaesthetic while I replace this joint, or will you 
‘grin and bear it.^’ It will be painful, I assure you. 
You will realize how others have suffered at your 
hands.” 

‘T think that I can endure the pain. Doctor,” 
was Dunbarr’s reply. 

After the painful operation of putting the joint 
in place. Dr. Beach remarked: “You will carry this 
arm in a sling for a number of weeks, Dunbarr, and 
you will be more than ever sorry that you are a 
bachelor.” 

“I have thought of that. Dr. Beach, and have 
concluded to ask you to loan me your student, Ben- 
nett. I shall need him both in my office and in 
visiting patients. He is a fine fellow, and I am will- 
ing to pay well for him.” 

“Yes; you do need him worse than I do, and 
you may have him. I am sure that he will be will- 
ing, for his high regard for you has made me jealous 
more than once. He is at the drugstore. I will 
telephone him.” 

After a few minutes Bennett came in, and seemed 
pleased with the idea of being in Dunbarr^s office 
for a time, and thither he accompanied him. 

“I have seen you through the acute part of your 
difficulty, Dr. Dunbarr,” remarked Mr. Bronson, 


156 As They Did It 

“and you are among your skillful friends, where it 
is very safe to leave you; so I will go to my home 
now/’ 

‘‘Mr. Bronson, I can never repay the help that 
you have given me to-night; neither can I return 
the kindness that you have shown me,” said Dun- 
barr, rising and extending his hand. “Be assured 
that I heartily appreciate the interest which you have 
manifested.” 

“I wish you to be equally assured, Doctor, that 
you are very welcome to the little service which 
I have rendered,” replied Mr. Bronson as he took 
Dunbarr’s hand. “I will look in upon you to-mor- 
row.” 

Dunbarr went to the office-door with Mr. Bron- 
son, and said in undertone, “I wish that all sus- 
picion that I have been the subject of foul play may 
be perfectly hushed.” And thus they parted for the 
night. 

As Mr. Bronson ascended the steps of his home 
the hall door opened and his daughter addressed 
him : “I am so glad that you have come, papa. I 
feared that it would be later than this before you 
could return. You must be very weary. I will take 
your cap and overcoat. You did not have your six 
o’clock meal, and, more than likely, have eaten noth- 
ing since noon. I have kept your toast warm, and 
will soon have an egg and some tea ready. But 
tell me first, papa, do you bring good or bad news ?” 

“I have no very sad story to tell you, Gertrude ; 
and yet, all-in-all, it is sad enough.” 

“Do not tell me more until we sit at the table. 
I thought I would not eat until you had come. Poor 


Foiled 


157 

mamma’s head ached so she was compelled to re- 
tire three hours ago.” 

As the two sat at the table, Mr. Bronson graph- 
ically rehearsed the experiences of the last four hours, 
Gertrude interrupting him, occasionally, with ques- 
tions. When her father related the maneuvering of 
Dunbarr’s horse, how, after striking down his mas- 
ter’s would-be assassin, he waited with the overturned 
carriage in apparently deep interest in his master’s 
welfare, she exclaimed, ^‘Sagacious old Joe!” And 
when she was informed that Dr. Beach had per- 
mitted the student Bennett to go with Dunbarr to 
his office, there to remain and assist him for a time, 
and that Bennett seemed delightful to go, Gertrude 
responded, “How good and kind they are !” When 
Mr. Bronson had nearly finished his story he re- 
marked, with a smile, “Why, Gertrude, I understood 
that you were to eat with me, whereas you have 
scarcely tasted your food.” 

‘‘I am to eat with you — I will eat with you; but 
the fact is I was so absorbed in what you were say- 
ing that I forgot to eat.” 

After a moment she asked : “Papa, how is it that 
right here in our beautiful city, where there are 
* so many churches and good people, wicked men dare 
to attack and try to kill a man who simply does 
his duty as a law-abiding citizen?” 

“I will answer you this way : In the case which 
relates to Dr. Dunbarr — and, I think, in all similar 
cases — the fact is largely due to the practical in- 
difference and cowardice of the so-called Christian 
people, and to the shrewdness and daring of the 
saloon element and liquor-dealers,” 


As They Did It 


is8 

“1 do not fully understand you, papa/’ 

^%ikely not. I will try to make my meaning 
clear. First, as to the so-called Christian people 
of our city. The answer that hundreds of them will 
give is substantially the following: ‘I want it under- 
stood that I am temperate, that I favor temperance 
and the suppression of the saloon and the liquor- 
traffic, and that I am willing to give financial aid to 
temperance enterprises; but I can not afford to 
identify myself publicly with aggressive temperance 
movements. I have my personal and financial inter- 
ests to look after, and I can not afford to make 
enemies and to injure my business by public, positive, 
aggressive temperance work.’ I understand, Ger- 
trude, that I am saying that the majority of so-called 
Christians are not practical temperance people. They 
rejoice in the benefits accruing to society by virtue 
of temperance reforms and the suppression of the 
rum evils, but they require that some other person 
shall instigate these reforms, although for them to 
do this is to get enemies, injure business interests, 
and, possibly, endanger life. In fine, these imprac- 
ticable temperance people desire others to do that 
which they have not the courage to do. This is 
neither brave nor just. Now, second, they who deal 
in alcoholic beverages understand the practical in- 
difference and cowardice of the average nominal 
Christian relative to temperance, and they are shrewd 
enough to take advantage of this practical indiffer- 
ence and cowardice. They will expect that this per- 
secution of Dr. Dunbarr will prompt many to de- 
sert the ranks of temperance, and, more than likely, 
they will realize their expectation. It is so like 


Foiled 


159 

selfish man to say: ‘If it has come to the loss of 
property and life, I will settle down and attend to 
my own business. “Charity begins at home.” ’ If 
Dunbarr had rescued a little child from a burning 
building, and, by so doing, had endangered his own 
life, the whole city of Warden would sound his 
praises to-morrow. But the effort of which he is 
one of the leaders is an effort to save hundreds of 
little children, and daughters, and mothers, and 
homes, and souls of men, from eternal ruin. No 
more heroic effort can any one engage in under the 
sun. No more heroic and Christlike effort lies in 
the future of the Church; and the Church will not 
have accomplished her glorious mission until she 
shall have led the temperance reform to a grand 
and final victory. What is the clock saying? Twelve? 
Gertrude, you should have retired hours ago.” 

“It is after your time for retiring also, papa. 
But if you had retired on time, you would have lost 
the privilege of doing your full duty; and if I had 
retired hours ago, I should have missed this dear 
interview with you, and should not have heard your 
earnest and wise words ;” and she folded her shapely 
arms about her father’s neck and kissed him good- 
night. 

Soon the large mirror in her own room reflected 
her beautifully thoughtful face ; and, a moment later, 
that same mirror held the image of that same face, 
turned toward heaven while, with clasped hands, she 
committed her own interests and the interests of 
her loved ones to the care of the Heavenly Father. 

At the same hour Dunbarr tried in vain to sleep. 
Pain and the exciting events of the last few hours 


i6o As They Did It 

prevented him; and he, also, turned his pale face 
toward heaven and whispered : ''Father, it all seems 
strange to me; but thou knowest. I am sure of but 
little, but that little is very much to me. I am sure 
of thy love. This love I trust, and would fain re- 
pay.” 


CHAPTER XI 


“Like True Friends” 


“Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of 
his friend.” 

IMMEDIATELY upon reaching the city, the 
^ sheriff related the result of his recent ride into 
the country to Policeman Bently, and asked his ad- 
vice. 

“The fellows may be in the city now,’’ replied 
Bently ; “but they have had ample time to secrete 
themselves; for you say that it was but a few min- 
utes after eight when you encountered them at the 
bridge, and it is now nearly ten. I will go directly 
to Bartlett’s barn and see if the livery which they 
took has been returned. Do you think that your 
shot took effect upon either of those chaps?” 

“I can not be certain, but I have my opinion 
about the matter,” was the sheriff’s reply. 

They learned that the livery had not returned, 
and was not expected until eleven o’clock, or even 
later. Bently made the inquiry alone, at the livery- 
barn, so as to awaken little or no suspicion. When 
he rejoined the sheriff he said, “We will go out west 
now to the junction depot, to see if we can get a 
clue ; but the last passenger-train left more than 
one-half hour ago.” 

II i6i 


1 62 As They Did It 

The agent informed Bently that he had sold 
tickets to no such men as he described, but at nine 
o’clock two men had stepped out from the shadow 
of the building, and had boarded the westward-bound 
train. The men were strangers to the agent, and 
he noticed that one of them seemed to be an invalid. 

''These may be the very men that we want,” re- 
marked Bently, aside to the sheriff, "and your bul- 
let may be the cause of the weakness of the one fel- 
low. I shall telegraph to the conductor on train 
No. 75, and see if he can give us any information 
about these men.” 

The conductor’s reply stated that two men had 
gotten upon his train at Warden Junction, without 
tickets, and that each had paid for a fifty-mile ride, 
but that both of them had gotten off at a junction 
fifteen miles from Warden. 

"Well,” remarked Bently, "tliat junction is a good 
place for them to get off at ; for there is a train due 
there at that time of night for both the north and the 
south; and the telegraph office is closed there for 
the night, after these trains depart. I advise that 
we attempt no more by telegram to-night. We will 
look around a little for the livery which they had.” 

On a back street, about a block from Warden 
Junction depot, a horse and buggy were found, and 
Bartlett identified these as the livery that he had 
let to a stranger, that night, at seven o’clock. 

At eight o’clock on the following morning, Mr. 
Bronson called upon Dunbarr. Although the latter 
had spent a restless night, and his arm was decidedly 
painful this morning, yet he was cheerful, and greeted 
Mr. Bronson with evident pleasure. 


“Like True Friends” 


163 


''This injured arm will not seriously interfere with 
my professional duties, and this wound on my temple 
will not disfigure me long,’' said Dunbarr. “Of 
course, I can not conceal from my friends and pa- 
trons the fact that I have experienced a rather pain- 
ful accident ; but I shall avoid a full explanation by 
telling them that I sustained a very sudden over- 
turning last night. I have worried somewhat for 
fear that this affair may find its way into the papers ; 
and, Mr. Bronson, I desire your advice and aid to 
prevent the publicity of so unfortunate an occur- 
rence.” 

At this point, the sheriff entered the office and 
soon began to relate the discoveries that he and 
Policeman Bently had made, and to speak of their 
intended course of procedure. Dunbarr listened in 
silence until the sheriff had finished, and then spoke 
with deep earnestness : 

''While I appreciate the importance of bringing 
ruffians to justice, yet the effort to capture these 
two men can go no farther, with my consent. If 
they should be caught, the hope of their conviction 
must be based on evidence very circumstantial. 
Bently could identify them as the two parties who 
had awakened his suspicions. Bartlett could iden- 
tify one of them as the man to whom he let a livery. 
The conductor who was on No. 75 last night would, 
likely, be able to identify them. But what possible 
proof have you that they were at Cedar Creek bridge 
last night? And, if you had proof that they were 
there, how could you show that their intent and 
purpose were evil? How do we know that they 
were not trying to find the missing planks of the 


164 


As They Did It 


bridge, and that the fellow who tried to catch my 
horse, did so to prevent him from dashing through 
the bridge into the swollen stream ? While their cap- 
ture and conviction are within the realm of the pos- 
sible, yet the matter would be accompanied with 
great uncertainty and enormous expense. There are 
other reasons why I object to the prosecution of 
this matter : The public prominence which such a 
prosecution would bring me into, I am decidedly 
averse to. And, then, the effect that such a trial 
in court would have, in our city, upon the cause of 
temperance, would be discouraging, if not disastrous. 
For let the impression become general that the sa- 
loon element has deliberately planned to waylay and 
kill a man for no other cause than that he is aiding 
in the enforcement of temperance laws, and a sad 
reaction in temperance effort would set in. Many 
of the timid temperance workers would say — and, 
by the way, very few of the temperance sympathizers 
and workers have any courage to spare — T will not 
risk my property and life for so thankless an enter- 
prise as temperance reform.’ Then, again, this is 
the very time that the attention and energies of the 
temperance workers of our city should not be di- 
verted from a well-defined and practical plan of work 
which they have adopted. Within the last six weeks 
we have been able to accomplish something by way 
of law enforcement, and we have curtailed saloon 
lawlessness in a number of instances. This has been 
a comparatively easy matter, because we have not 
only had the law on our side, but the officers of the 
law as well. Within the next six weeks we are 
to have our city election, and it will require the 


“Like True Friends” 165 

united effort of the temperance people of Warden 
to elect to office men that will favor temperance and 
the enforcement of temperance laws. I desire and 
advise that this matter be given no further publicity, 
that our suspicions be carefully concealed, and that 
we be not in the least diverted from our united effort 
for temperance reform. The newspaper reporters 
will, doubtless, become aware of the fact that some- 
thing out of the usual has occurred with me; but 
there are only six of us in the city who have par- 
ticular knowledge of the circumstances, and the re- 
porters need not have the benefit of our knowledge.’^ 

“Your opinion, and especially your desire, should 
go far in determining our future course in this case,” 
answered the sheriff, “and I will counsel with the 
chief of police and with Officer Bently, communicat- 
ing to them your desires regarding the affair.” 

After the sheriff had gone out, Mr. Bronson re- 
mained but a moment in conversation with Dun- 
barr, and as he arose to depart he asked: “You are 
not attempting the care of yourself and of your 
patients alone, are you. Doctor? I understood, last 
night, that you were to have help.” 

“No ; I have arranged to have the student, Ben- 
nett, with me for a few weeks. He is a capable fel- 
low, decidedly companionable, and will be of valuable 
service to me. After I have seen a patient, he can 
take charge of the case in accord with my directions. 
He is now visiting my patients.” 

Early in the forenoon, Gertrude Bronson said 
to her mother : “Mamma, I am going to visit papa 
at his office.* Is there any errand that I can do for 
you down-town?” 


As They Did It 


1 66 

Her mother thanked her, did remember that she 
needed an article from the drygoods-store, and re- 
marked that it was not a very agreeable morning 
for a walk. 

As Gertrude reached Bellevue Street she met 
Walter Milford, who was also going down-town, and 
was much pleased to come into her company. Their 
conversation was of a very cheerful character, and 
afforded evident pleasure. Although at the time they 
were passing Dunbarr’s office, Gertrude was reply- 
ing with some animation to one of Milford’s spirited 
remarks, yet she was not unmindful of the number 
she was passing, and her quick eye caught a glimpse 
of Dunbarr’s pale face as he sat at his desk near 
the window. Milford noticed the momentary expres- 
sion of mingled sadness and anxiety passing over 
her fair face, and he wondered at it; but soon she 
was conversing as brightly as before. Dunbarr saw 
them as they passed, and a feeling which at first he 
did not understand came over him. For a few mo- 
ments he sat in silent analysis of this feeling. Later 
he spoke in a low and measured tone : 

‘T must remember that I am not my usual self 
to-day, but am morbidly sensitive. Yet I am com- 
pelled to recognize a fact which I have been vaguely 
conscious of for years, — Gertrude Bronson is the 
woman that I love with all the ardor and depth of 
my nature. I have been content to permit this love 
to remain a perfect secret while I have been estab- 
lishing myself here in my profession, and while I 
have slowly accumulated property ; but there has 
been before my life the vision of an ideal home, and 
my life has been strengthened as, sometimes, I have 


“Like True Friends” 


167 


entertained a fond hope of her. I have been aware 
that the conventional society of Warden has not 
accredited me an equal social inheritance with her, 
but I have also known that I have antecedents and 
resources that Warden is ignorant of. I have been 
willing that people should consider me a poor young 
physician, struggling, in a strange city, to obtain 
a foothold, and I have been proud and thankful to 
prove to them what a young man of integrity can 
accomplish. While I have not sought many friends, 
yet I have not suffered for lack of them. As to 
the matter of kindred, I am, indeed, a lone man ; for 
the few of my kindred who remain are but distantly 
related. Had I not been a very busy man, the fact 
of my loneliness would have been painful indeed. 
In my few leisure moments — especially within the 
last year — the star of my hope has shone with in- 
creasing brilliancy whenever her pure life has passed 
within the orbit of that star. She was evidently en- 
joying the society of that young man, and it is un- 
reasonable in me to question his right to the pleasure 
which her presence afforded him. I am having a 
revelation of my own selfish life this morning; and 
I am beginning to see how far-reaching my selfish- 
ness is.’' He was silent a moment, and then con- 
tinued : “What right have I to permit the accumula- 
tion of the income from the estate which my parents 
left me, while at the same time I am laying by, each 
month, a handsome amount of my own earnings? 
I will now and here reprove my proud life by set- 
ting aside my fond dream of a modern and elegantly- 
furnished home. My comfortable bachelor apart- 
ments are as good as I deserve now, and by and by 


As They Did It 


1 68 

a cozy cottage would be beyond my merits — if — if 
I could share it with her.” 

At this Bennett returned and addressed Dunl^arr 
in his usual buoyant manner : 

'‘How are all your broken bones by this time, 
Doctor? What is the matter with your face?” 

“My bones are reasonably comfortable, and I 
suppose that the usual appearance, of my countenance 
is altered by that wound on my temple.” 

“Something more than that wound attracted my 
attention,” returned Bennett. “The expression of 
your face would indicate that you had just arrived 
at a very stern and almost desperate conclusion, 
with here and there the merest glimmer of hope. 
We will permit the matter to pass without further 
comment by supposing that you had gotten some- 
what lonesome while I have been gone so long. 
What an appreciative, not to say loving, set of pa- 
tients you have ! Every last one of them asked why 
you did not come ; and when they learned of your 
illness, they must know all about your ailment ; 
whether you were lying down or sitting up, and just 
when I thought that you would be able to come to 
see them. Well, I am happy to inform you that all 
of these dear patrons of yours are doing well — really 
well — when we consider the fact that their own doc- 
tor is incapacitated, and that they have only a stu- 
dent to look after them.” And Bennett drew a chair 
near the fire, sat down, and looked mischievously 
upon Dunbarr. 

“That is right, Bennett, sit with me awhile. I 
think that I was a little lonesome. And there is 
something about your presence that is more than 


‘‘Like True Friends” 


169 


company. This something is not easily defined, but 
it partakes of the nature of a wholesome tonic. There 
is no doubt, my dear fellow, that your patients will 
be fond of you. The anticipation of your future 
affords me happiness. I have appreciated your worth 
since I first formed your acquaintance. Your every 
step has seemed to be ‘forth and right on.’ And 
when about two months ago you publicly yet humbly 
consecrated your life and all its powers to the service 
of the Savior of the world, my heart was moved 
with grateful joy, and I said, silently, ‘Bennett, in 
this hour, has chosen for his brow the Conqueror’s 
crown.’ Our chosen calling, Bennett, has to do with 
matters that are very vital to mankind, and should 
be esteemed a sacred calling. One makes a sad 
mistake when he concludes that the addition of 
worldly wisdom to the knowledge obtainable from 
books and the schools comprises the physician’s en- 
tire possible equipage. The Infinite Mind is the 
author of the human body, and understands this 
body in its entirety. This Infinite Mind consents 
to be the Counselor of the willing and obedient hu- 
man mind, and has sent forth the following word 
to this ignorant world, ‘If any of you lacketh wis- 
dom, let him ask of God, who giveth to all liberally 
and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.’ The 
physician should be a prayerful man. Then the moral 
influence, possible with him, should lead him to hold 
his calling as sacred. The vital interests of the home 
are intrusted to the physician; and while he helps 
the body back to health, he may help the soul to 
a joyous submission to the claims of Christ.” 

“I love to hear you talk in that way,” replied 


170 


As They Did It 


Bennett. ‘‘Such views of it lift our profession out 
of the dead level of worldliness. And I am in sym- 
pathy with your convictions regarding our chosen 
work. Let me thank you for the frank expressions 
of your sanguine anticipation of my future. I hope 
that I shall never disappoint you. And let me give 
some expression of my regard for you now — not as 
a return of a compliment, but as an expression of 
a fact. I have watched you closely since our intro- 
duction, two years ago, and you have become, in 
the main, my ideal. Your conduct has influenced 
me. Had you not preceded me in a public profession 
of the religion of Christ and a frank espousal of his 
cause, it would have been far more difficult for me, 
and I might have delayed longer my choice of him, 
however just I might have felt his claims to be.” 

“Of course I was ignorant of this, and I thank 
you for telling me,” said Dunbarr. “I was not aware 
that any one was influenced by my course.” 

After a moment, Dunbarr continued Next Sun- 
day is communion-day with our Church, and at the 
preparatory meeting next Saturday afternoon, I am 
informed, a large number will present themselves 
for Church membership. Had you thought of unit- 
ing at this communion, Bennett ?” 

“I have given the matter some thought, but have 
not yet decided to unite,” replied Bennett. “I have 
not esteemed that step as vitally necessary, and have 
not thought it important to embrace the first oppor- 
tunity to unite. It will make no decided difference 
in my life or with my public religious service.” 

“I look at the matter a little differently,” said 
Dunbarr. “I believe that the young Christian needs 


“Like True Friends” 171 

all the help that he can secure. A public, sincere, 
and regularly-defined renunciation of the world of 
sin strengthens one in his religious position. Then, 
moreover, the Church of Christ is organized to exert 
a continually helpful prerogative ; and it seems con- 
sistent that all who feel the need of spiritual help 
should promptly place themselves within the juris- 
diction of this body.'’ 

There was a call at the office just as Bennett was 
replying, “I will give this matter a more careful con- 
sideration and soon, in response to the call, Ben- 
nett was driving with Dunbarr to the northern part 
of the city. 

His arm was more painful when he returned, 
and in the afternoon he gave himself up to absolute 
quiet. This quietude was broken at about four 
o’clock by a visit from Thomas Wilson, who did not 
disguise his feelings of mingled pity and anxiety, oc- 
casioned by seeing the wound on Dunbarr’s temple 
and his left arm in a sling. 

“Me b’y, Willie, on the strate this noon, haerd 
soom mons shpakin’ aboot yez. Dr. Dunbarr, an’ Oi 
faer that what he thought he haerd is true. How 
cooms yer arrum in so bad a plight, an’ how cooms 
that oogly wound on yer temple?” 

“That is a matter that I do not care to talk much 
about, Wilson, but a short yet true answer is this : 
I was thrown out of my carriage last night and 
struck upon my left side, dislocating my arm and 
bruising my temple. It is a matter that none of my 
friends need to worry about. I, with the aid of Mr. 
Bennett, have been able to attend to all of my work 
to-day, and shall be better from this time on till 


172 


As They Did It 


I am sound again. I can see that you are gaining 
strength, and I hope that it will not be many days 
before you can resume work at the factory.” 

'‘Yiz, Oi ’m much shtronger than Oi war, yet Oi 
am wake shtill. But wan oother wakeness is not 
so shtrong as it war. Oi kin git on widout shtrong 
dhrink aisier than Oi could. Oi have not been in- 
toxicated fur manny 's the day.” 

“I can not tell you, Tom, how pleased I am that 
you are overcoming your appetite for liquor. But 
you must be very watchful ; for it will be a long, long 
time before you are fully free from your evil habit. 
And when you begin to mingle with men that drink 
they will tempt you severely, and, if you yield, in a 
few hours you will find yourself utterly overpowered 
by your old enemy. This would pain deeply all of 
your friends, discourage yourself, and take all hope 
away from your family. Tom, it would be far bet- 
ter for you to remain sick for months than to be 
overcome again by the drink-habit. Do not think 
that you are strong, and become venturesome. Re- 
member that you will ever be a weak man in the 
presence of intoxicating drinks, and never be tempted 
to enter the place where such drinks are sold. Please 
bear in mind that all of your true friends would be 
much grieved if you should drink again, and think 
of that One who, more than all human friends, is 
able and willing to help and save you.” 

‘‘Oi do moind aboot him, an’ Oi moind aboot 
her who shpoke to me of him, so koind loike, an’ Oi 
moind aboot yez an’ Oi would not pain any o’ yez. 
Would yez moind if Oi ’d coom often to yer office 
an’ talk wid yez?” 


“Like True Friends” 


173 


^'Certainly not, Tom; come as often as you like. 
I repeat the request that I made of you several 
weeks ago : Promise that you will come and see me 
before you enter a saloon again; and, as soon as it 
will be safe to expose yourself to the night air, I wish 
you to visit the reading-room at the church where 
I attend, and to enjoy some of the music and enter- 
tainments which are given there.” 

^'Oi am willin’ to promise yez that what Oi would 
not promise yez once, an’ wid all o’ me powers Oi 
will try to keep it an’ coom to yez afore Oi iver enter 
the s’loon ag’in. An’ Oi would loike to coom to the 
rooms at the church, fur me Willie has shpoke to 
me of them. But Oi must go now, fur yez look 
toired an’ wake loike. An’ let me jist shpake this 
word to yez while Oi ’m goin’ : yez had bist to kape 
yer eye on the s’loon mons, fur they bode yez no 
good at all, at all.” 

Two or three short paragraphs which appeared 
in the evening paper annoyed Dunbarr. They re- 
ferred to the facts with which he was unpleasantly 
associated on Monday night. The following will 
serve as an example: 

^Xate last evening. Liveryman Bartlett let a horse 
and carriage to a stranger, who, with a companion, 
drove west on Jackson Street out of the city. At 
nine o’clock last night, two strangers emerged from 
the darkness and boarded the western-bound train 
at Warden Junction. These two men are believed 
to be the ones who left the city at seven o’clock 
last night with Bartlett’s livery; for, soon after the 
train departed, a policeman found Bartlett’s horse 
tied on a back street, less than a block from the 


174 


As They Did It 

junction depot. Some time between seven and ten 
last night, Dr. Dunbarr encountered an unpleasant 
experience, by virtue of which he appears to-day 
with a disfiguring wound upon his left temple, and 
with his left arm in a sling; and some are expressing 
a wonder if the fellows who still owe Bartlett a livery 
bill are not, in some way, connected with the mis- 
fortune of the doctor.’’ 

Wednesday forenoon. Dr. Burns called upon Dun- 
barr. He found him alone in his office, and their 
converse was personal and very fraternal. At the 
close of Dr. Burns’s call, Dunbarr remarked: 

‘'Dr. Burns, your call has been the very medicine 
I needed. I thank you for the wholesome cheer and 
faith-inspiring words that you have brought and im- 
parted. I shall be happier and stronger because of 
this visit.*’ And when Dr. Burns had gone out, 
Dunbarr thought, “His stalwart Christian manhood, 
and his unwavering faith in God and the right, put 
to shame my doubtings, and provoke within me a 
strong desire for Christian manliness.” 

At 1.30 on Saturday afternoon, Dunbarr asked 
Bennett to assist him with his overcoat, informing 
him that he was going to attend the preparatory 
meeting of the Church. 

“I will accompany you, Dunbarr, if we may both 
be away from the office for so long a time.” 

“I shall be pleased to have you accompany me. 
I am forming the habit to close my office to attend 
the regular services of the Church. Somehow, I 
am beginning to enjoy leaving this notice on my 
office slate, ‘Am at the church; will return after 
service,”’ was Dunbarr’s reply. 


“Like True Friends” 175 

In this preparatory meeting, the First Church 
of Warden endeavored to take a comprehensive view 
of that portion of its history which had been written 
within the last two months. And there prevailed 
a spirit of humble gratitude ; and there was profound 
adoration of Him who had not died in vain to save 
mankind. Never before, at any time during his min- 
istry with this Church, had Dr. Burns seen so many, 
with religious intelligence and spiritual mindedness, 
seek a home within the fold of the Church. Among 
this number were Dunbarr and Bennett. 

The public reception of members, after the ser- 
mon on the following Sunday morning, was an im- 
pressive service. After they and the Church had 
mutually entered into a solemn and loving covenant, 
Dr. Burns addressed to each new member — old and 
young, rich and poor, young men and young women 
— an appropriate text of Scripture, as he gave to 
them the right hand of fellowship. The communion 
service which followed had, to these new members 
and to the Church, a genuinely spiritual significance. 

At the close of the morning service, Marian Mills 
remarked to Gertrude Bronson : “How noble Dr. 
Dunbarr and Mr. Bennett appear as they stand side 
by side, like true friends, and pledge their promising 
lives to the service of the Church ! Let ’s go, to- 
gether, and personally welcome them and all these 
new members.^’ 

This they did. Afterward they conversed for a 
moment with Dunbarr and Bennett, and then, with 
them, went into the lecture-room for the opening 
exercises of the Sunday-school. 


CHAPTER XII 


“If I am Wrong” 

“We grope as if we had no eyes; we stumble at noon-day as in 
the night.” 

uA A rHO were those two well-dressed, fine-looking 
^ * young men, who stood together as they were 
received into the Church this morning?’’ asked 
Walter Milford of Mrs. Stevens, when they returned 
from the Sunday morning service. 

‘^One was Robert Bennett, who studies medicine 
with Dr. Beach. The other is Harmon Dunbarr, 
a young doctor who has resided in our city for the 
last six years,” was Mrs. Stevens’s reply. 

'‘Was it Dunbarr who carried his left arm in a 
sling?” 

"Yes; his arm was injured by some means, last 
week. I remember that the papers made some men- 
tion of the matter.” 

"Well,” remarked Milford, "it would cure me 
speedily, if I had a broken arm or a broken heart, 
to have Miss Bronson take my hand and look upon 
me with those soul-telling eyes of hers, as she looked 
upon Dunbarr. But he evidently failed to appreciate 
the fact that his fortune stood before him, and Miss 
Bronson was equally ignorant of the fact that her 
eyes were disclosing the deep secret of her heart.” 

"You are wrong in your judgment^ Walter, coii- 
176 


“If I am Wrong” 


177 


cerning the regard that Miss Bronson has for Dr. 
Dunbarr; and it is well that she does not esteem 
him as you judge she does. Her parents could never 
consent to a union of their only and accomplished 
daughter with this poor young doctor, of whose his- 
tory we are ignorant.'' 

'^If it comforts you to think that my judgment 
is faulty, Mrs. Stevens, I certainly would not de- 
prive you of that comfort ; but," he added, half play- 
fully, "you forget that I am a society man, and have 
often seen eyes speak truth that words are not per- 
mitted to convey. Others, presumably, would be 
comforted if they could believe that Miss Bronson 
had only a passing regard for the young doctor. 
Well, those two young men are intelligent and prom- 
ising additions to your Church. But that can not 
be said of some of the others who united to-day ; 
for it was apparent that some were not carefully 
educated, and do not train in the most refined so- 
ciety of your city, and are even poor. In my opinion, 
a Church having the dignity of the First Church 
of Warden should be more discreet in its choice of 
members. Yet this indiscriminate reception is the 
logical sequence of the teaching of your pulpit. So 
long as the pulpit teaches that we are all poor, 
wretched, lost sinners until we humbly accept the 
saving offices of Christ, who comes to all — rich and 
poor, high and low, refined and vulgar — with a com- 
mon salvation, and that a common necessity and a 
common Savior establish a common brotherhood, 
just so long will the Church that accepts such teach- 
ings fail to make social and intellectual qualifications 
requisites for Church membership." 

12 


178 


As They Did It 


“I am conscious of the truth that you are utter- 
ing, Walter, and I am pained that my Church is so 
rapidly drifting toward the vulgar ; and, as I said to 
you once before, I can see no practical remedy. But 
our Church seems prosperous. There never was 
such a general interest in all of our services, and the 
audiences are larger than they have ever been. Then, 
there is another feature of the matter that annoys 
me : there are not more than a dozen of all our mem- 
bers who are opposed to this new order of things ; 
and these are no wiser, nor wealthier, nor more re- 
fined than are many who are heartily in sympathy 
with this present policy. And the young and brilliant 
portion of our membership, with possibly one or, at 
most, two exceptions, are enthusiastic in all this 
'aggressive Church work/ as they are pleased to 
call it. I sometimes become personally serious over 
this matter and I ask myself, ‘Emily Stevens, can 
it be possible that you can be wrong?' " 

"And I perceive, Mrs. Stevens, that it is only a 
step farther and you will be asking, ‘Can it be pos- 
sible that Walter Milford is right and all of the in- 
telligent young people of the First Church of Warden 
are wrong?' " 

And these two looked each other fully in the eyes 
and thought thoughts which they did not speak, 
and then Mrs. Milford adroitly led them to a change 
of subject. 

It had been arranged to hold, at the church, a 
reception in honor of the new members, on Tuesday 
night, from 8.30 to 9.30, after the usual Tuesday 
night service. Mrs. Stevens did not disguise her 
desire to attend this reception, and her guests ex- 




“If I am Wrong’’ 


179 


pressed their willingness to accompany her. ''Let 
us go early/’ urged Mrs. Milford, “and attend both 
the devotional meeting and the reception. I am 
curious to see how the Tuesday evening service of 
your Church is conducted.” 

“To attend, and to attend regularly, is the only 
way to ascertain just how this service is led,” an- 
swered Mrs. Stevens ; “for it is conducted no two 
consecutive nights after the same form. Sometimes 
it is principally a praise service. Sometimes Dr. 
Burns gives an address, taking a considerable por- 
tion of the hour; sometimes the time is nearly all 
taken in prayer; sometimes one of the deacons or 
one of the older members of the Church leads the 
meeting; and sometimes the Christian Endeavor So- 
ciety has charge of the service. So, one hardly knows 
what sort of a service to expect. Yet each evening 
the service moves forward with precision.” 

As they came upon the street from Mrs. Stevens’s 
home they met Marian Mills, unaccompanied. Miss 
Mills explained that she had hoped to have the com- 
pany of her near neighbor, Mrs. Burton, but that 
that lady was unavoidably detained at her home. 
“So,” said Marian, cheerily, “I started out alone, 
hoping to soon find good company; and how soon 
my hope is realized !” 

The three greeted her cordially, expressing glad 
willingness to chaperon her; and Walter remarked: 
“Mother and Mrs. Stevens are so exclusively com- 
panionable, I will, with your permission. Miss Mills, 
walk with you. 

“Certainly, Mr. Milford. Are you becoming con- 
siderably acquainted in our city?” 


i8o 


As They Did It 


“I feel that 1 know your city fairly well, but I 
have formed the acquaintance of comparatively few 
of its citizens. I have found a few congenial spirits 
down-town, and I have met a number of the young 
people of your Church and society since the kind 
reception which they gave me. But I confess that 
I have not gone into society so promptly as I usually 
do when visiting strange cities.’' 

'‘I trust that our young people have not lacked 
in cordiality; yet it may be that we have. We are 
such a preoccupied set.” 

'^No ; the young people of your Church do not 
lack in genuine heartiness ; yet, as you say, they 
are preoccupied. Young people usually are. But 
the strange part about the case is, that that which 
has taken possession of the time, and has engaged 
the interested attention of your society, has no ab- 
sorbing charms for me. It would not be so remark- 
able if a lower grade of young people should be 
contented with matters of religion; but I am com- 
pelled to recognize the talent, the culture, the bril- 
liancy, and the practical ability of the young people 
of your set. And that such young people should be 
happy and satisfied with matters of religion, is be- 
yond my comprehension.” 

‘Tardon me, Mr. Milford, but you compel me to 
believe that the religion of Christ contains charms 
to which you are an utter stranger.” 

‘‘Really, Miss Mills, it is humiliating to know 
that I have compelled you to believe me to be so 
decidedly the intellectual and social inferior of the 
young people oi your Church and society.” 


“If I am Wrong” 


i8i 


‘'Again 1 ask your pardon, Mr. Milford. Herein 
lies your error: this religious fruition — this impor- 
tant and practical knowledge that the religion of 
Christ can satisfy human life, young as well as old — 
is not obtained by virtue of superior intellectual ca- 
pacity nor by merit of high social standing. If it 
were so, and only so, to be obtained, how very many 
would be deprived of it!” 

“To designate his error. Miss Mills, is frequently 
to initiate an effort to guide one aright. Here we 
are at the church. Will you sit with us ?” 

The lecture-room was so well filled that the four 
could not sit together, and so Milford and Miss Mills 
were seated back of his mother and Mrs. Stevens. 
At the opening of the service, several hymns were 
sung, after which Dr. Burns said : “This hour of de- 
votion will be far too short, even if every second 
of it shall be wisely used by us. In the singing of 
these beautiful hymns we all have had the privilege 
of looking out toward the Master. Already his in- 
spiring presence is with us. We have been very 
happy together in this dear room many times of 
late. To-night we have great cause for thankful 
joy because to our former loyal number has come a 
hope-inspiring re-enforcement. These will be in our 
thought as we seek anew the Master’s blessing. But 
there are others, many others, in our city, who need 
the saving knowledge of our Master. These will be 
in our thought also as we pray. We will now, please, 
have a season of silent prayer, in which let every one 
engage. At the close of this season I will pray.” 

The book of God, alone, can bear the record of 


i 82 


As They Did It 


such earnest, silent prayers ; but, as an immediate 
result, the Church thus engaged may be exalted to 
the high realm of pure and united worship. Dr. 
Burns’s prayer was short, but it seemed that his 
sensitive soul bore the impress of the strong desire 
of his people, and his petition was a summary of their 
unuttered prayers ; to which was added the deep 
longing of his own quickened and devout spirit. 
Then followed hymns and many prayers and Scrip- 
ture verses, expressive of hope or desire or present 
religious experience, or of unwavering faith in God, 
and many testimonies, indicative of happy and hope- 
ful Christian living; and then the hour had passed, 
and all too soon. 

The reception which followed partook of the na- 
ture of a home-gathering, so natural and real was 
it. The cordiality was general. The new members 
were impelled to feel that this was their home, and 
that these were their fathers and mothers, and 
brothers and sisters. Walter Milford and his mother 
permitted themselves to be presented to all whom 
they had not met, and the young man allowed him- 
self to be influenced by the social good-cheer which 
prevailed. Dr. Burns shook his hand warmly, and 
was glad to see that he was feeling at home among 
the young people of Warden, and hoped that his 
sojourn in the city was both profitable and pleasant. 
Gertrude Bronson met him pleasantly, and, as she 
happened to be standing by Dr. Dunbarr, introduced 
the two. The meeting of these young men was 
mutually agreeable, if one could judge by the ex- 
pression of their countenances while they conversed 
together. His mother chanced to come near them. 


“If I am Wrong” 


183 

and Milford took the occasion to introduce Dun- 
barr, who addressed her with such a gentlemanly 
bearing as quite to win that lady’s admiration. 

At the close of the reception, Milford said to 
Miss Mills : “Circumstances plainly placed you within 
our care to-night, and gave us the pleasure of your 
company to this service; and like circumstances in- 
dicate that we should esteem it our duty and privi- 
lege to accompany you safely to your home.” 

“I shall object to your doing so from a sense 
of duty, Mr. Milford ; for there are friends from my 
neighborhood present whose company I may share ; 
but if the matter addresses you in the form of a 
privilege, I shall be returning your kindness and 
affording myself a pleasure by continuing in your 
company.” 

Milford winced slightly, but replied with a smile : 
“We are agreed on the ground of mutual pleasure. 
We will permit those inseparable ‘friends from child- 
hood’ to precede us, and thus, in the best sense, we 
may be their shadows.” 

Marian took his arm, and they followed his 
mother and Mrs. Stevens from the lecture-room to 
the street. These two matrons had overheard the 
conversation of the young people in which reference 
was had to the ground of mutual pleasure, and they 
tripped on before, happy to be shadowed by such an 
interesting couple. 

“Were the devotional meeting and the reception 
pleasant to you, Mr. Milford?” asked Marian. 

“Yes; quite so. While I was not a participant 
of the devotional spirit which seemed to be so preva- 
lent, yet it was interesting to notice the unfeigned 


184 As They Did It 

pleasure of that large company of worshipers. To 
me it was a spectacle clothed with mystery — a thing 
quite unusual with the modern, intelligent Church. 
The reception was hearty, and, while it lacked the 
formal finish of receptions common in the most 
select society, it evidently answered the end which 
was intended — the cordial welcome of the new mem- 
bers, a warm-hearted introduction of them to a most 
homelike church home. What will your Church do 
now, Miss Mills? Continue this sort of thing until 
it becomes a monotonous routine?’’ 

“Mr. Milford, even you would not advise the 
discontinuance of such services; now would you? 
And, certainly, none of us wish our religion to lapse 
into a dull routine. Besides, there is yet so very much 
before us which will take our spare time and engage 
our talents, and awaken within us new interests, 
and bring to us new pleasures. Why, the oppor- 
tunities of our Church are simply joyous to antici- 
pate ! Dr. Burns spoke to me to-night of a new 
enterprise which is anticipated for the first of May — 
the opening of a branch Sunday-school in the eastern 
part of the city, near the corner of Genesee Avenue 
and East Cedar Street. He said that one of our 
members has an annual income, a part of which he 
wishes to invest in such an undertaking, and that 
the amount offered was sufficient to rent and fit a 
suitable building, and to furnish supplies for the 
school. So, you see, our Church is quite certain 
soon to have the privilege to furnish this new school 
with officers and teachers and workers. And we 
anticipate other new undertakings, but I will not 
weary you with an account of them now.” 


“If I am Wrong” 


185 


''Miss Mills, as we were entering the church, 
some two hours ago, you suggested that I am ig- 
norant of some important facts related to the re- 
ligion of Christ, and I am half persuaded that you are 
correct in that opinion of me. At any rate, the young 
people of Warden and myself are so unlike in our 
tastes and in our religious practices that this differ- 
ence separates us as a great gulf. Have you a plain 
word of explanation?’’ 

"I prefer to speak generally, Mr. Milford, without 
any attempt at application. If this course will be 
permissible, I will proceed.” 

"You may proceed thus, and I will find my les- 
son.” 

"If your lesson is couched in what I may say, I 
certainly will not object to your finding it ; but I 
insist that I am to speak generally, and not with 
the implied object of teaching you your lesson. 
Christ is not a spent theory, but he is a vital fact. 
He is not a dead character of ancient history, but 
he is a living personality in the present age. Chris- 
tianity is not a belief and a profession merely, but 
it is an abounding, aggressive life, proceeding from 
the Prince of life, who takes possession of the throne 
of our being by virtue of our full and free choice. 
And when the throne of our being is surrendered 
willingly and glady to the living Christ, it follows 
that our life abounds in peace and gladness and cheer- 
ful good works, as naturally as day follows night. 
But this is my home, Mr. Milford. I would invite 
you in were it not now late. I thank you for ac- 
companying me. If I have wearied you by reciting 
some of my catechism, the teachings of which are 


As They Did It 


1 86 

SO beautifully true, you will remember that you per- 
suaded me to do so/' 

“I have enjoyed being your escort, Miss Mills, 
as also 1 have your pert little theological lecture. 
That we do not agree in doctrine need not prevent 
our friendship. I had not appreciated the fact that 
I am sojourning nearly within your neighborhood. 
I wish that we may embrace the prerogative of 
neighbors, and meet frequently." 

‘^Thank you, Mr. Milford; I will be pleased to 
have you call upon me at my home." 

When he was seated within the pleasant home 
of Mrs. Stevens, Milford remarked: 

“Well, rather a pleasant evening, after all; but 
so unusual." 

“Your mother, just a moment ago, remarked 
similarly," returned Mrs. Stevens. 

“Yes ; and I was just telling Emily that I was 
agreeably impressed with the personal bearing of 
that young doctor whom you introduced to me. He 
seemed refined and well-informed." 

“He impressed me favorably also. He seems to 
possess a deep nature and a naturally reserved force. 
He is a man, the like of which can not be fully esti- 
mated at one meeting. And yet he, too, is evidently 
in full accord with this keen religious activity of 
your Church, Mrs. Stevens." 

“Religious fanaticism I am forced to call it ! I 
am led to use the word which you and your mother 
have just made use of, ‘unusual!’ So ‘unusual’ in- 
deed I Why, there were people in that service and 
reception to-night who, six months ago, would not 
have been noticed, much less welcomed there. Of 


“If I am Wrong” 


187 


course, I must be sociable and act cordially to all; 
for not to have done so would have been to become 
embarrassingly conspicuous. But, I tell you, this 
order of things is becoming intolerable and she 
clinched her hands in her lap, leaned forward in her 
chair, and looked sharply into the open fire. 

“I am about to say tut! tut!” returned Milford, 
laughing. “It may become necessary to call in Miss 
Mills that she may give you, Mrs. Stevens, one of 
her smart little lectures of a reconciliatory nature. 
However, I presume that a good night’s rest will 
serve to quiet our troubled spirits, and make us 
all very amiable and he kissed his mother and ex- 
tended a good-night hand to Mrs. Stevens, which 
she took, smiled feebly, and then said : 

‘'Good-night, Walter; but more than a smart 
little lecture from Miss Mills, or a night of rest, will 
be required to reconcile me.” And in this she was 
correct. 

The two women sat in silence a few minutes, and 
then Mrs. Stevens addressed her friend: “Flora, this 
matter of religion and of my Church exercises me 
extremely. At first I thought it would be only a 
gush, lasting but a few weeks. Later, we felt that 
we ought to introduce a counter-element of influ- 
ence. This I suggested to you when I wrote for 
Walter to come among us. At the present, we are 
forced to remark that this new order of things is 
gathering force each week, and is enlisting members 
each month. The movement is progressing with 
system. Their plans are forming skillfully, and their 
schemes are far-reaching. Yet I am farther than 
ever from being reconciled. As I said to Walter 


As They Did It 


1 88 

last Sunday afternoon, it is becoming a mat- 
ter seriously personal with me; and I ask myself, 
Can it be possible that I am wrong? And then 
there follows a thought which is more agitating still, 
although it is purely hypothetical, and is couched 
in four simple words, ‘If I am wrong/ Flora, you 
can anticipate my dilemma, should this ‘if’ be dis- 
posed of affirmatively. You know my antecedents. 
We are a strong-minded family, and the last thing 
we do is to yield a point which we have taken. Our 
natures prompt us to die rather than to surrender.” 

“But suppose that ‘if’ should be disposed of nega- 
tively?” suggested Mrs. Milford. 

“My own mind does, or may, dispose of it thus ; 
but this does not materially alter the situation. The 
same condition of things is still on; myself and a 
half dozen others, more or less, are, and will be, 
compelled to brook the exasperating eccentricities 
of a fanatically enthusiastic Church. No matter 
which side of it we look upon, it is a dark prospect, 
is it not?” 

Mrs. Milford went to Mrs. Stevens’s side and 
laid her hand caressingly upon the head of her friend 
as she said : “Emily, it is quite late, and you are 
weary. As Walter suggested, sleep will do you good. 
I think I ’ll take you home with me when I return. 
You need a change, and you shall have it. The strict 
conformity of my dear Church to the well-estab- 
lished and time-honored ways will be refreshing to 
you; and all of your old-time religious pleasure will 
return.” And the good-night embrace of these two 
matrons was a portrayal of the simple fondness of 
two school-girls of forty years ago, when the stream 


“If I am Wrong” 189 

was yet near by the fountain, when life's destinies 
were not yet fixed. 

At about seven o’clock on Friday night, Willie 
Wilson came hurriedly into Dr. Dunbarr’s office, ap- 
proached the doctor’s side, and said, in an under- 
tone : 

“Will you please come with me to help me 
father?” 

“Is he worse again?” asked Dunbarr. 

‘He is not sick again,” answered the boy, as he 
looked down toward the floor; “but — but — we need 
you to help us ag’in.” 

“I will help you, my boy,” said Dunbarr, as he 
placed his hand on Willie’s shoulder; “but tell me 
a little about it first, and it will help us to form our 
plans. Where is your father?” 

“He is in Bill Graves’s saloon, and he can not 
walk. I found him there jist a little bit ago. When 
I went home at six o’clock, mother told me that he 
had been gone since two o’clock, an’ she could n’t 
find him and could n’t tell where he had gone. I 
went back an’ jist peeped into some saloons, an’ 
there I seen him settin’ in a corner on the floor in 
Bill Graves’s saloon. Jist then Mike Patterson come 
out, an’ I asked him to tell father to come, an’ Mike 
said he could not come ’cause he could not walk. 
I told mother, an’ she said come tell you.” 

“Willie, you go home and tell your mother that 
I want her to go with me to get your father, and 
that I will be there in about twenty minutes after 
her.” 

The boy hastened out of the office, and Dunbarr 
turned to Bennett and said ; “Will you please go 


190 


As They Did It 


to Bartlett’s and tell him to send me immediately 
a two-seated, closed carriage, with a driver to ac- 
company it ?” And Bennett bowed and left the office 
without remark. 

The carriage was obtained promptly, and soon 
stood at Dunbarr’s door. Bennett, who had ridden 
back, held the door of the vehicle open for Dunbarr, 
and said to him as he was about to enter, 'T would 
be glad to accompany you. Doctor, if I could render 
any assistance.” 

‘‘Thank you, Robert ; I think that we shall not 
need you,” replied Dunbarr, as he smiled faintly. 
Then turning to the driver, who knew the city well, 
he said to him : “Drive first to the home of Thomas 
Wilson, and then back over town to the saloon of 
Bill Graves ; and please drive briskly.” And as Ben- 
nett went slowly back into the office he said : “That ’s 
Harmon Dunbarr ! ‘Take me to see some one whom 
I can help, and take me there briskly.’ And no 
matter who that ‘some one’ is — whether an officer 
of state worth his thousands, or a drunken Irishman 
who is not worth the board shanty that he lives in — 
Dunbarr is at his service.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


“Into the Pit Anoother Toitne” 


“They also that seek after my life lay snares for me.” 


HEN the driver drew reins before Thomas Wil- 



^ ^ son’s shabby home, Mrs. Wilson stood in the 
open door. She had arrayed herself in a red-and- 
white hood and a thin plaid shawl, and was ready for 
the rescue of her husband. But she had not antici- 
pated a carriage-ride, and she was reluctant toward 
entering the vehicle. Dunbarr stepped out and as- 
sured her by saying: “Step right in here, Mrs. Wil- 
son. I thought the carriage would be a convenient 
means in bringing your husband home.” 

“Can me Willie go along wid me, plaise sir? Fur 
it is soom dark already.” 

“Certainly, if you like. We, probably, shall not 
be gone very long, and the children can stay alone 
in safety.” 

“Yis, they ’ll take no harrum. Coom on, Willie.” 
And soon they were moving rapidly towards the 
saloon of Bill Graves. 

The driver, in compliance with Dunbarr’s request, 
stopped the carriage a few feet east of the entrance 
of the saloon, and their arrival was not observed. 

“You will go in with us, please, Mrs. Wilson. 
Your husband will heed your words, and the more 
willingly come with us.” 


192 


As They Did It 


‘'Oi ’d much the rither not go in there, Dr. Dun- 
barr ; but if ye think Oi should, Oi will.’’ 

'^Yes, Mrs. Wilson, I think it quite important that 
you should go into the saloon and help to get your 
husband out. I will see that you are protected.” 

'‘Oi ’ir go then, sure.” And they stepped quickly 
to the door and entered so promptly that they were 
not observed till they were near the center of the 
room. Here they hesitated but a moment, when 
Dunbarr pointed to the southwest corner of the 
room and said in a clear voice : "Mrs. Wilson, there 
is your husband.” But she had caught sight of Tom 
nearly as soon as had Dunbarr, and soon was bending 
over him in an effort to arouse him. Dunbarr went 
deliberately to the bar that he might place his pocket 
tablet upon it, and with his pencil quickly took the 
names of all present, whom he knew, beginning with 
Bill Graves and his burly bartender. Then he went 
to Mrs. Wilson, who was saying: "Wake oop, Tom, 
an’ coom wid me. Don’t ye haer me, Tom? Coom 
now, quick.” 

Seeing Tom’s deep stupor, and rallying somewhat 
from his mortification. Bill Graves said: "Let him 
alone, mom ; I ’ll take keer of him and git him home 
in good shape.” 

"Ye’ll do nothin’ ov the koind ! Ye’ve had far 
too much to do wid him already ! He ’s me own 
poor moil, an’ it ’s mesilf that ’ll be carin’ fur him 
now. It ’s no fault ov his ’n that he coom in haer ; 
fur he was bound that he ’d try not to coom. It ’s 
soom mane dade ye ’ve brought onto him. An’ Oi ’m 
coomin’ to a shtate where Oi kin nigh aboot tear the 
eyes oot ov yer head.” 


‘‘Into the Pit Anoother Toime” 193 

This furnished fun for the drunken, stupid 
loungers in the saloon, and they laughed and clapped 
their hands ; but Graves grew serious. Dunbarr had 
stepped to the door in the hope of seeing a police- 
man ; and, fortunately, was promptly gratified ; for 
it happened that Bently was just then passing, on 
his return from the police station, where he had been 
engaged for the last hour. Dunbarr requested him 
to assist in getting Wilson out of the saloon and 
into the carriage. When Bently entered the saloon, 
it soon became quiet; and when he and Dunbarr 
began to lift Tom from the floor by sheer force, 
Mike Patterson stepped out of the rabble, and said: 

‘'Dr. Dunbarr, ye have but one arrum to lift wid, 
an' Oi am one ov Tom’s bist friends, an’ Oi ’ll aid ye 
to git him home wid pleasure, sure. It’s no place 
fur the loikes ov him to be in. It is bether far fur 
him to be home now.” 

Dunbarr frowned upon Mike, but only said : “We 
do not need your aid, sir; thank you.” 

“Do you need my assistance farther?” asked 
Bently, when Wilson had been rolled into the car- 
riage and lifted upon the seat, where his wife and 
son supported him. 

“No, I think not, thank you; we can do the rest. 
But the carriage will soon be driven back to your 
part of the city, and if you wish to go immediately 
to your round, your quickest and most comfortable 
way to get there is to ride with us. Then your pres- 
ence will give official dignity to our company.” 

The carriage rumbled rapidly back to Wilson’s 
home, and Bently aided in getting Tom into the 
house. 

13 


194 


As They Did It 


“You may drive where Policeman Bently may 
direct, and then go back to the barn. I will remain 
with Wilson for a time, and then walk to my office,’' 
were Dunbarr’s words to the driver. 

When Dunbarr was alone with the family he said 
to Mrs. Wilson: “There is but little that we can do 
for your husband just now, more than to aid nature 
somewhat in her effort to be rid of this despicable 
stuff that he has taken. It will not trouble you much 
to care for him through the night ; but he may try 
to get away from you and go over town in the morn- 
ing. If he does, give him some strong coffee to 
drink; and if you can not persuade him that he had 
best stay at home, give him one of these powders. 
The powder will make him sick. I will see him some 
time to-morrow forenoon. When he arouses, do not 
censure him for drinking. I am quite inclined to 
believe that he was tricked into taking liquor. I have 
a plan formed, and you, Mrs. Wilson, will have a part 
to perform in it. I will disclose my plan to-morrow 
when I come.” Then turning to the boy, as he sat 
with downcast eyes and bowed head, he said: “Do 
not give up in despair, Willie; it sometimes takes a 
long while to fight a great battle. We will stand 
by you, and will not cease our efforts for your father. 
You have worked hard to-day, and must not worry 
so you can not rest to-night. Remember, my boy” — 
placing his hand on the child’s head — “that it is often 
very dark just before day dawns. Go to your work 
to-morrow as if nothing had happened. We will look 
after your father and after this case, generally.” 

Willie made no reply, but his mother said : 
“We ’ve all kept hope aisy for a good number ov 


“Into the Pit Anoother Toime” 195 


wakes past; an’ Tom had hope too, an’ Oi disbelave 
that he willed to do it ; but Oi fall to thinkin’ that he 
got a smack ov it afore he sinsed it. An’ it would n’t 
be pace to the mon that led him to it, should Oi put 
me hand to him. ’T was bad to lade him to it whin 
he didn’t try; but ’t was an orful sin to tempt him 
whin he did try.” 

Bennett took Dunbarr’s overcoat when he re- 
turned, and said as he did so : 'TIow is your patient. 
Doctor? Will you turn him over to me now?” 

“I would gladly give him over to you or to any 
other good man, if I could know that a perfect re- 
covery would be effected. But it is a case with many 
serious complications.” 

‘^Tell me of them, please ; you must not forget 
that I am a student.” 

‘'The diagnosis is briefly this : Appetite for rum. 
And this appetite has so often been indulged that 
it has almost absolute control over the poor man 
who has it. The complications may be concisely 
stated as follows : Rum. People to sell it for the 
cash profits that there are in such a traffic. And 
people to tempt men to buy it and drink it. Simply 
enough stated, you perceive ; but it, with its das- 
tardly complications, is the great malady of man- 
kind.” 

It was about ten o’clock on the day following 
when Dunbar called upon Wilson. He was lying on 
the lounge when the doctor entered, and did not 
arise to greet him. Dunbarr was not disconcerted 
by Tom’s reticence, but asked in a kindly tone of 
voice, “How are you this morning, Mr. Wilson?” 

“Oi am not sick, but shtill Oi fale bad.” 


196 


As They Did It 


“Where is it that you feel bad?'' 

“Oi am wake an' shakey loike; but Oi fale the 
woors in me moind." 

“Why do ye feel so bad in your mind? Tell me 
about it, Tom." 

“Me hope is gone intoirely. Oi war proud an' 
hit hope fur a moonth, nigh aboot ; an' Oi said, 'Tom 
Wilson is a bracin' oop, an' will be a shtrong mon 
ag'in afore long.' An' now tor-day Oi 'm sayin', 
'Poor Tom Wilson! Where are yez coom at?' An' 
Oi moind to me shame that Oi 've bhroke me word 
to yez ; fur Oi promised yez that Oi 'd coom an' sae 
yez afore iver Oi 'd enter a s'loon ag'in. An' now 
Oi 'm sayin' to mesilf, 'Tom Wilson, ye 've bhroke 
yer word to yer bist friend, the good mon, Dr. Dun- 
barr I Shame to yez, Tom Wilson, that yez could n’t 
kape yer word to the loikes o' him!'" And Tom 
sobbed and covered his face with his hands. 

“I have more faith in you than you may think," 
said Dunbarr. “I believe that you did try to keep 
your word ; and that you fell because you were se- 
verely tempted. Will you sit up and please tell me 
all about it, Tom?" 

“Oi will, sure, tell to yez all Oi know aboot it, if 
yez loike." 

“Yes, I wish to know all about the afifair, and 
shall listen with great interest while you relate the 
facts. I came here this morning to learn about the 
matter." 

“Well, then, Oi 'll tell it to yez, sure. Aboot two 
o'clock, yisterday afthernoon, Oi sez to me woif, 
'Oi 'll walk oot a bit.' An' she sez, 'An' where will 
yez be fur goin', Tom?' An' Oi sez, 'O, nowhere 


“Into the Pit Anoother Toime” 197 


at all ; Oi ’ll jist walk a bit.’ An’ she sez, ‘Do n’t be 
gone long, Tom, fur the aist wind blows shtrong an’ 
cold.’ An’ Oi sez, ‘No; Oi ’ll not be fur stayin’ long.’ 
But when Oi war afore the shoe-shop o’ me friend, 
Moike Patterson, Oi felt a little wake in me legs, an’ 
Oi sez to mesilf, ‘Oi ’ll turn in an’ set a bit wid 
Moike.’ Moike war roight plaised to sae me, an’ 
we had a foine chat aboot auld Ireland. We both 
moind much aboot the dear auld Mootherland. 
Moike set on his bench, an’ Oi set on the chair an’ 
watched him whilst he worruked. Whin a roight bit 
o’ time had passed, Oi sez, ‘Now Oi ’ll go, Moike.’ 
Then he sez, ‘Wait a bit, Tom. Oi must give yez 
a warrum dhrink afore yez go oot ; fur the aist wind 
blows cold and damp; an’ sich winds in March are 
moighty bad on a mon that has but jist got aboot 
afther a fit o’ the pneumonia. Yez nade niver faer, 
Tom,’ sez Moike, ‘fur Oi ’ll jist give to yez some 
hot water, swatened wid a taespoonful o’ the essence 
o’ ginger put into it. That makes a foine dhrink fur 
a sick mon, Tom, whin he ’s aboot to face a raw aist 
wind. An’ it ’s roigt good fur a well mon, too, at 
sich toimes.’ ‘Now, Moike,’ sez Oi, ‘tell me sure, 
is it only the sugar an the essence o’ ginger that 
ye ’re puttin’ into the hot water?’ An’ he sez: ‘Sure, 
mon. Oi would niver dissave a friend.’ An’ Oi think 
that Moike war fair to me ; fur that dhrink we had 
together jist only warrumed us oop a bit an’ made 
us fale chirk loike. But jist then Tim McFadden 
shtepped in an’ sez, 'B’ys, what ’s that ye ’re 
dhrinkin’?’ Moike sez, ‘Jist only a warrum, soft 
dhrink, Tim. Will yez take a sip wid us?’ An’ Tim 
sez, ‘Oi do n’t moind if Oi do try it.’ Tim sipped his 


198 


As They Did It 

a bit, an’ then sez he, ‘ ’T is good, b’ys ; but Oi have 
soomthin’ in me pocket that ’ll make it much bether, 
if yez add a few draps.’ Then Tim took a bottle from 
his pocket, an’ turned in soom draps into the dhrink 
he was sippin’ an’ smacked his lips an’ sez, 'That ’s 
foine, b’ys ; that ’s jist what Moike’s dhrink lacks to 
make it jist roight.’ 'Is that so?’ sez Moike. 'Then 
Tim, if yez do n’t moind, Oi ’ll try a drap or two.’ 
And then Moike smacked his lips an’ sez he, 'Indade, 
’t was the very wan thing that me own dhrink lacked.’ 
Then sez Tim, 'Now, Tom, yez try a drap or two in 
wid yer dhrink, an’ sae fur yersilf jist how much it 
adds.’ An’ he turned in a roight few draps. An’ 
sure, Docthor, it was the bist dhrink Oi ’d had fur 
manny’s the wake. Then we all sez, 'We ’ll have our 
coops all filled ag’in, an’ take a few draps more from 
Tim’s bottle into it. This toime Tim let fall manny 
more draps than afore. Then, we sez, 'Jist wance 
more, we would take a coop of Moike’s warrum 
dhrink, afore we went oot into the aist wind what was 
bio win’ harder now. An’ Tim sez, ‘Yez an’ me ain’t 
sick, Moike ; we ’ll let Tom, poor mon, have mooch o’ 
me bottle.’ An’ he impted it all into me coop. Then 
Oi set a bit to chat wid the b’ys, an’ then sez Oi, 'Oi 
could go home well, now, an’ take no harrum at all 
from the aist wind, if Oi had jist wan more dhrink o’ 
Moike’s tae wid a few draps from yer bottle, Tim.’ 
An’ so Tim sez, 'Tom, me bottle is impty; but me 
friend Graves, across the way, kin fix oop a warrum 
dhrink fur yez, Tom, mooch hither as kin Moike 
here. ’T is jist excellent, Tom.’ Then sez Oi, 
'Would yez moind to shtep over, Tim, an’ git me a 
small coop afore Oi ’m goin’ home?’ 'No,’ sez Tim, 


“Into the Pit Anoother Toime” 199 


^but me friend ‘Graves niver loikes to send tae oot, 
an’ then, Tom, it would n’t be the rich, warrum tae 
that it is, ag’in’ ye ’ve took it oot onto the strate into 
the cold aist wind. Sure, Tom,’ sez he, ‘jist shtep 
over wid me, an’ we ’ll git the tae soon, an’ then yez 
kin be fur goin’ home.’ Then, sez Oi, 'Oi ’d the 
rither not go over to the s’loon wid yez, Tim, but Oi 
nade the tae mooch, an’ it ’s the only way Oi kin git 
it ; an’ so Oi thinks Oi ’ll go wid yez ; an’ yez moind 
that Oi take but wan coop o’ the tae.’ Bill Graves 
samed glad to sae me, an’ he sez, ^Sure, Tom, the 
poor, sick mon shall have the bist coop o’ tae Oi kin 
git oop; an’ it shall cost him no money at all.’ An’, 
Docthor, he fixed me oop the bist coop Oi ’d had in 
mannys the long and warry wake. Oi ’d give mooch 
fur anoother loike it jist now ; so foine wor it that 
me mouth an’ throat longs fur it jist at this present 
toime. Oi felt aisier afther Oi took o’ Bill’s tae ; an’ 
Oi keered not what Oi done. The b’ys wor glad to 
sae me, an’ wor so glad to have me dhrink wid ’m 
ag’in. Sez they, 'Tom, yez oor auld friend coom 
back ag’in.’ An’ Oi felt such a paice, loike, that Oi 
went to slape wid the b’ys. An’ when Oi wor roight 
sure Oi had waked oop, Oi wor home here wid me 
family.” 

'T thought that it all came about in some such 
a way as you have related,” said Dunbarr ; "and do 
you see clearly that it was a trick of the saloon to 
get you drunk again? Tim McFadden works about 
Graves’s saloon, and, I have but little doubt, was 
sent over to get some liquor mixed with the warm 
drink you and Mike were taking. When once again 
you had the taste of liquor, you were an easy prey 


200 


As They Did It 


of the saloon. You are very sure that you drank 
liquor with some of the men at the saloon, after 
Graves had given you the warm drink, are you, 
^om?’' 

^‘Yis, Oi ’m roight sure o’ that. The b’ys thrated 
me all round. And at the last sez Oi, ‘B’ys, Tom 
Wilson will kape aven wid yez ; an’ now Oi ’m to 
thrate yez in turn.’ Oi thrated so manny ’s Oi ’d 
the mooney to buy it wid. Oi ’d soom less than a 
dollar wid me. Me b’y Willie put it into me hand, 
toother day, an’ sez he, ‘Hare ’s a little mooney that 
yez Willie arned and gives it to yez.’ So Oi ’m roight 
sure aboot the dhrinkin’.” 

“I am glad that you know what you did, and can 
tell all about where you got the liquor. I am de- 
termined to turn this knowledge of yours into prac- 
tical account. How do you feel toward those men 
who led you to taste liquor, and then, at the saloon, 
gave to you and sold to you enough to make you 
dead drunk?” 

“O, whilst Oi think they wor me friends, yit they 
wor not koind to me.” 

“Tom Wilson, those men are not your friends ! 
From this time forth you must count them your 
enemies. You must count everybody your enemy 
who would encourage you to take even a drop of 
liquor.” 

Then, turning to Mrs. Wilson, Dunbarr said : 
“Mrs. Wilson, I told you yesterday that I had a plan, 
and that you had a part in that plan. My plan is to 
arrest Bill Graves for selling liquor to an habitual 
drunkard. Your part is to make the complaint and 
secure a warrant for his arrest.” 


‘‘Into the Pit Anoother Toime” 201 


‘'Why, Dr. Dunbarr, Oi kiiit do that part at all, 
at all ! Oi do n^t know how to do that part, an’ Oi 
am afeered to do it !” 

“I know how, and will tell you everything that 
will be required for you to do. And I am not afraid, 
and you need n’t be.” 

“But ye kin go on wid yer plan widoot me, Doc- 
thor. Jist go roight on, an’ niver moind me part ov 
the plan.” 

“Mrs. Wilson, do you want your husband saved 
from a life of shame and from a drunkard’s grave?” 

“Yis, sure Oi do; don’t Oi, Tom?” 

“Well, I must tell you plainly that you certainly 
are not very anxious to save your husband from an 
awful future, if you are not willing to do the little 
that I ask of you and will help you to do. And if 
you will not do all that you reasonably can, how can 
you expect me and others to continue to put forth 
efiforts to save your husband?” 

“Dr. Dunbarr, Oi am anxious to save me poor 
mon. An’ Oi will do as ye sez, if ye ’ll stand nigh to 
me aid.” 

“You may depend upon me for aid, and also there 
is quite a large number of good men and women of 
our city who will help us in the prosecution of this 
case. Our first step will be to go to the office of 
Justice Eliott, there to make complaint against Bill 
Graves. Will you meet me there at one-thirty this 
afternoon, Mrs. Wilson?” 

“An’ will ye be there, sure, Docthor? If ye will, 
Oi ’ll mate ye there ; but Oi ’d the rither not.” 

“I will surely be there at that time, and will be 
looking for you ; so you must not disappoint me. 


202 As They Did It 

You know I never disappointed you nor your family, 
Mrs. Wilson.’’ 

''But, Docthor, if me wife complains ag’in Bill 
Graves, he ’ll saice to be me friend longer, Oi ’m 
faerin’. An’ he ’ll then be me enemy an’ the enemy 
o’ me family. An Bill would be a bad enemy, sure.” 

"Wilson, he is your enemy now, and is doing 
worse by you than he would should he burn your 
home. I tell you to count him your enemy, already, 
and have no fears of his hatred.” 

On the way to his office, Dr. Dunbarr called upon 
Justice Eliott and requested him to be in at one 
o’clock sharp, stating that he would then present an 
important matter of business. 

When Mrs. Wilson arrived at Justice Eliott’s 
office at one-thirty, Dunbarr had fully stated his plan 
to Eliott, and nearly all of the preliminary writing 
had been done, so that she soon secured a warrant 
for the arrest of saloonist Graves, charging him with 
selling intoxicating drink to her husband, Thomas 
Wilson, an habitual drunkard. Dunbarr advised that 
the warrant be not served until the following Mon- 
day, and that the examination be held on the follow- 
ing Tuesday, at ten o’clock A. M. "And in the mean- 
time, advised Mr. Eliott, "let nothing be said about 
the matter. You and your husband can talk of it, 
but let none of your neighbors know anything of it.” 

On Monday when the summons was served, 
Graves seemed but little disconcerted ; and, after 
some slight objections, consented that the time for 
his examination be fixed for ten A. M. Tuesday. 

Monday night was the time for the regular 
monthly meeting of the Anti-saloon League of the 


“Into the Pit Anoother Toime’’ 203 


First Church of Warden. This League had invited 
the two other Church Leagues of the city to meet 
with them in their regular session this month, and 
these Leagues were well represented. Among other 
topics discussed by the League was the arrest of 
Bill Graves, on the complaint of Mrs. Wilson, for 
selling liquor to her husband. Dunbarr, as chairman 
of the Law-enforcement Department, made a state- 
ment of this case, and earnestly urged that the 
League aid the prosecution in every way possible. 
‘^Mrs. Wilson,'’ said he, “is timid, and was very re- 
luctant to begin the prosecution. She and her hus- 
band fear the saloon element. I pledged her my 
unwavering support, and told her that many other 
of the temperance people of Warden would come to 
her aid; meaning, especially, the people of the Anti- 
saloon Leagues. I was positive in the thought of 
your support, feeling assured by what I have seen of 
you in your short history. Here is another oppor- 
tunity to show our colors and to make our influence 
felt. I ask that we may be present in large numbers 
at the examination to-morrow. And I would sug- 
gest that, when opportunity is afforded, we take Wil- 
son and his wife by the hand, and tell them that we 
are their friends, and that we are there to encourage 
and support them.” 

Dr. Burns then addressed the League, and, in the 
course of his remarks, said : “I wish, if I can, to em- 
phasize the importance of rallying to the aid of the 
Wilson family. Dr. Dunbarr made me aware of the 
condition of affairs with them, and I called there this 
afternoon. My call was opportune. Mike Patterson 
and Bill Graves were in the house when I was ad- 


204 


As They Did It 

mitted. They immediately ceased their impassioned 
conversation when I entered, and soon they took 
their leave. It was several minutes before I could 
lead the family to converse freely with me, and, when 
I did, the mission of those two men became apparent, 
and it was simply this : to induce Mrs. Wilson to 
withdraw the suit against the saloonist. Graves. 
They promised, offered bribes, and threatened until 
Mrs. Wilson was nearly at the point to succumb. 
Wilson, it seems, has not been very favorable towards 
the enterprise from the first. He says that he is 
likely to lose many of his best friends, that these will 
become his enemies, and will never favor him again. 
His thirst for liquor is the father of his fear of lost 
favor, I presume ; for he is aware that it will not be 
so easy for him to secure his drinks after Bill Graves 
is convicted. I endeavored to lead him to see what 
a terrible thing the drink habit is, and how wicked it 
is to indulge that habit. Said I : ‘Mr. Wilson, it is 
a horrible pit of death — death which may be eternal — 
into which you have fallen, and from which all of 
your true friends are trying to rescue you.’ ‘Yis,’ 
said he, with evident emotion, ‘an’ now Oi ’ve jist 
fallen into the pit anoother toime !’ I spoke of hope, 
but tried to show him that his only hope lay in his 
sobriety. I tried to show them the importance of 
carrying this suit through to a successful issue. 
After I had prayed with them, I took Mrs. Wilson 
by the hand and said, Tf you wish to save your own 
husband and to help to save husbands of other 
women in our city, you must be fearless in the prose- 
cution of this case.’ She seemed determined to se- 
cure the conviction of Graves ; yet, for the double 


“Into the Pit Anoother Toime” 205 


purpose of strengthening her and preventing another 
visit there from Graves or his friends, I asked two 
of the Loyal Daughters to go there this evening 
and make a long call upon the family. Another mat- 
ter I wish to mention before I sit down,^’ said Dr. 
Burns. “On the first Monday of next month will 
occur the annual election of our city officers. From 
now until the election occurs, the Legislative Depart- 
ment of our League should be very active. The 
prosperity of the cause of temperance in our city 
for the coming year will depend quite largely upon 
the character of the men who shall be chosen for 
municipal officers. We must be bound by no party 
affiliations in a matter like this. We want men of 
ability and integrity to whom we may intrust our 
temperance interests. Such men must be placed in 
nomination, and must be elected. I also advise that 
the Agitation Department of our League embrace 
this time to increase its activities. Let our pulpits 
abound in practical temperance teaching. Let the 
instructors in our schools be more than usually active 
in teaching temperance and in augmenting practical 
temperance sentiment. Let the editors of our city 
papers agitate the matter by means of wisely-chosen 
statistics and by spirited editorials.’’ 

At the close of the League meeting two men 
walked promptly out of the well-filled lecture-room 
and down one of the more dimly-lighted streets of 
the city. They were Tim McFadden and his friend. 
They had come into the League meeting late, and 
had sat in the back part of the room, where they had 
been noticed but by a very few. The impressions 
that these two had received from the meeting may 


2o6 


As They Did It 


be known in part by a remark that Tim made to his 
friend, and by that friend’s reply : 

‘Tt ’s a wide-awake coompany that they are, sure. 
An’ they are shmart, an’ manny ov them talk welL 
An’ they mane death to the s’loon. An’ we nade to 
be watchin’ oot fur them. An’ Oi think we will.” 

‘‘An’ it ’s roight that ye are in all that ye ’re say- 
in’, Tim.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


“Oi’m Cornin’ Back Ag’in ” 

But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had 
compassion. ’ ’ 

T T would be more difficult to describe than to im- 
^ agine Thomas Wilson’s perplexing surprise when, 
at nine o’clock Tuesday morning, an officer came to 
subpoena him as a witness for the prosecution in the 
case of the People against Bill Graves. He thought 
that the matter could be settled “widoot mixin’ mesilf 
oop into it.” He urged a lack of health, saying, 
‘‘Oi ’m too wake to go so fur an’ to shtand the tax 
that ’ll be onto me moind.” He pleaded ignorance, 
declaring that he did not know all that took place 
at the saloon — “not aven whin me wife an’ soom 
oothers coom fur me an’ took me home.” He quaked 
with excitement and fear when the officer informed 
him that none of his excuses would avail, but that 
a carriage would be at his door at ten o’clock to take 
himself and wife to the office of Justice Eliott. “It ’s 
bad, indade, to trick a mon into a s’loon an’ lade him 
into dhrinkin’, but it ’s wors, be fur, to lug him oof 
to shwear aboot it!” was Tom’s despairing excla- 
mation. 

It was evident that Graves intended to put forth 
a brave fight for his release ; but it was also evident 
207 


2o8 


As They Did It 


that he did not feel strong in the fight. The saloon 
was largely represented in the room where the exami- 
nation was held, but the larger part of the assembly 
were temperance people, either members of the Anti- 
saloon League or sympathizers with aggressive tem- 
perance. These took occasion to make themselves 
and their sentiments known to Thomas Wilson and 
wife, and this effected cheer and courage in them. 
Wilson was an important witness for the prosecu- 
tion. He testified that he had known defendant 
Graves a number of years. When asked where he 
had met him most frequently, he promptly replied, 
“In his s’loon, where he 's sold me dhrinks manny’s 
the toime.’' He remembered distinctly of having 
visited Mike Patterson at his shoe-shop on the after- 
noon of the previous Friday; of having gone from 
Mike’s shop, in company with Tim McFadden, to 
Graves’s saloon, on that same afternoon ; that in that 
same saloon he had been treated to drinks by Graves 
and “be oothers o’ me friends,” as Tom stated it, 
and, at last, he bought a drink for himself and as 
many of his friends as he had the money to pay for. 
He also stated that he soon went to sleep in the 
saloon, and did not know when his wife came to 
take him home. 

Mrs. Wilson’s testimony was a sad rehearsal of 
years of experience as a drunkard’s wife, and was 
of a nature to establish in the mind of the court 
the fact that Thomas Wilson was an habitual drunk- 
ard. Both Wilson and his wife were subjected to 
a severe cross-examination, skillfully conducted, but 
this failed to change, in any material respect, their 
direct testimony. Dunbarr, as the physician of the 


Cornin’ Back Ag’in” 


209 


Wilson family, was questioned with reference to Wil- 
son’s physical condition and his habits, assuring the 
court that, according to his best knowledge and be- 
lief, Thomas Wilson was addicted to the use of in- 
toxicating drinks. Mike Patterson and Policeman 
Bently gave testimony relating to the condition that 
Wilson was in when he was helped into a carriage 
and taken home on the Friday afternoon in question. 
The former was evidently offended that he was com- 
pelled to be a witness for the prosecution, and was 
disposed to be reticent, answering only as he was 
obliged to do, and then with obvious abbreviations, 
until the trend of the questions caused him to fear 
that he might be implicated in the temptation of 
Wilson ; then he became loquacious, and was at the 
service of the court to fix the blame upon Bill 
Graves. 

The defense, on the whole, was feeble. It at- 
tempted to establish as a fact that Graves did not 
recognize Wilson when he entered the former’s sa- 
loon; that the Friday afternoon was very cloudy, 
and the saloon was so dark that it was difficult to 
recognize a man promptly, and Graves could not be 
sure that he did or did not deal drinks to Wilson. 
It was possible, he admitted, that Wilson might have, 
with a company of others, taken a drink at his bar. 
But the defense put forth the greatest effort to con- 
vince the court that Thomas Wilson was not an 
habitual drunkard. It stated that, prior to his late 
sickness, Wilson had been an industrious laborer 
at the Bronson Iron Works, seldom, if ever, losing 
a day from week’s end to week’s end, the whole year 
through; that for years he had worked for the same 
14 


210 


As They Did It 


firm for good wages ; and that he was, by his em- 
ployer, considered a faithful employee. 

When the testimony for the defense was all in, 
Wilson was requested to take the stand again, and 
to make a statement to the court concerning his own 
habits. ^‘You are not obliged to give any testimony 
that will be damaging to yourself ; but if you please 
to make any true statement about your work, your 
wages, and your habits of strong drink, I shall al- 
low such a statement, and shall be, personally, thank- 
ful for it,’’ said the court. 

Wilson took the witness stand, and happened to 
sit in such a position as to face Dunbarr. The de- 
fense objected to such a manner of procedure, but 
Justice Eliott replied : “I am to decide whether the 
defendant should or should not be held for trial. 
The principal question that this case has brought 
before this court is that relating to Mr. Wilson’s 
habits in regard to strong drink. Mr. Wilson under- 
stands that he is not obliged to give any testimony 
that will seriously reflect upon his character or shall 
be in any way damaging to himself. But if he is 
disposed, under oath, kindly to tell us whether or 
not he is habitually addicted to the use of alcoholic 
drinks, he may be permitted to do so.” 

Whether it was the conscious presence of Dun- 
barr, quickening his memory, or whether it was the 
assertion of Thomas Wilson’s better self, or both 
of these, that prompted his frank and pathetic state- 
ment, we may not know. Certain it was that this 
statement was a portrayal of blighted hopes, of 
squandered wages, and of an impoverished home — 
a description of a fruitless fight, prolonged for years, 


“Oi’m Cornin’ Back Ag’in” 


21 I 


to break the power of appetite and to free one’s self 
from the poisonous fangs of alcohol. ‘‘An’ now,” 
said Wilson, as he finished his statement, “me health 
is bhroke, me home is destitute an’ in dishpair, an’ 
me hope is gone. Nigh aboot all is gone but me 
orful thirst fur shtrong drink ; an’ that is woors an’ 
shtronger than iver.” 

As we have anticipated, Bill Graves was not re- 
leased, and he gave bonds to appear for trial at the 
next term of Circuit Court. And if the aggressive 
temperance people of Warden were pleased and 
caused to hope, in a like degree the saloon element 
was angered and filled with a spirit of revenge. 

Wilson sank into a state of deep melancholy 
when he returned to his home, and his thirst for 
liquor became intense. “It ’s a bad shtate that 
we ’re into ; an’ there ’s no hope left now, sure,” he 
remarked to his wife as they sat alone, late Tuesday 
afternoon. 

“Why do ye say so, Tom? Ye are naerly well, 
an’ kin soon worruk agin, an’ oor Willie is a good 
b’y an’ he is worrukin’, an’ we have food an’ fuel. 
An’ think ov the manny foine payples what met us 
to-day, an’ told us that we ’re doin’ roight an’ that 
they would be oor friends.” 

“Yis, but there ’s oothers — me auld friends — 
what will hate me now an’ shpake niver ’s the koind 
word nor do the koind dade to me more, at all, at 
all !” And Tom buried his face in his hands, leaning 
forward in his chair before the fire. 

Mrs. Wilson arose and quietly began her prepa- 
ration for the evening meal. At 6.15, Willie entered 
the house, whistling in a mild tone a snatch of one 


212 


As They Did It 


of the songs which he had heard at an evening con- 
cert at the First Church of Warden. His father 
raised his head and looked at the boy while he 
placed his mittens in his cap, and then hung them 
all upon a nail in the corner of the room at the right 
side of the door. Willie spoke a word of greeting 
to his father, and then the latter said: “It does me 
good to haer yez whistle a bit, Willie, aven if Oi 
am so sad an’ oot o’ hope, loike. But, me b’y, how 
kin yez do it when all goes so ill wid us?” 

“I ’m not out of hope, but I feel some cheer, like. 
Besides, a good many nice folks of the Church has 
seen me to-day an’ spoke kind words to me. But 
Dr. Dunbarr spoke the best to me. He said we must 
cheer up an’ take hope ag’in, an’ all might be better 
nor we ’ve seen fur a long time. An’ he said, ‘Willie, 
if you are not needed at home, will you be too tired 
to come to the Tuesday night meeting at the Church 
to-night ? I ’d like to have you come. It will give 
you something new to think of and to tell your 
folks about.’ So, if you do n’t keer, I think I want 
to go. It won’t last but one hour.” 

“Oi think yez may go, Willie, unless yer moother 
nades yez.” 

“No,” answered Mrs. Wilson, who had overheard 
the conversation, “Oi ’ve nothin’ to kape him home ; 
an’ Oi ’d like fur him to go, an’ soomtoime afore long, 
Oi ’ll jist shtep in there, too, ov a noight. An’ afore 
mooch time has passed ye shall go wid Willie, too, 
Tom, if Oi loike what they ’re a-doin’ in the matin’. 
But coom now an’ ate. Oi have soom good, shtrong 
tae fur ye, Tom.” 

At the close of the meeting of this Tuesday night. 


213 


“Oi’m Cornin’ Back Ag’in” 

Duiibarr spoke to Miss Bronson, who attended, ac- 
companied by her father. Among other things, he 
said: think it best that Thomas Wilson should 

be set to work again soon. He needs to have his 
mind occupied in such a way as to take his attention 
from himself. He may not be sufficiently strong to 
do a man’s work at the firsts but he will soon re- 
gain his usual strength. I mention the matter to 
you. Miss Bronson,” said Dunbarr, his eyes twink- 
ling mirthfully, ‘'remembering that you are the junior 
member of the firm of Jerome Bronson & Daughter, 
and knowing that you are interested in the welfare 
of Thomas Wilson.” 

“I am proud to be thus associated with my father 
in your thoughts. Dr. Dunbarr, and I wish I were 
so practical a girl as to be able, in reality, to be a 
junior member in a firm with him. But I am really 
interested in poor Mr. Wilson, and will mention 
the matter of his resuming work to papa.” 

"Such daughters as Gertrude Bronson are beauti- 
fully ignorant of their real, practical force in the 
business affairs of their fathers,” said Dunbarr, with, 
for a moment, a far-away expression upon his coun- 
tenance ; and then, as if suddenly becoming conscious 
of what he had just uttered, he added, blushing: ‘T 
beg your pardon. Miss Bronson, for thus seeming 
to compliment you. I was thinking and speaking in 
quite a general way.” 

"Inasmuch as the compliment was only seeming 
and was given while you were ‘thinking and speak- 
ing in quite a general way,’ I can grant your pardon. 
Doctor, on one condition only : that you never re- 
peat such an offense.” 


214 


As They Did It 


Dunbarr blushed more deeply, and was thor- 
oughly perplexed as he hastened to say : ‘'Miss Bron- 
son, you may make sport of me ; but I shall not 
permit myself to remain in such a ridiculous atti- 
tude. I have a genuine admiration for such intimate 
and true daughterly relations as you sustain to your 
father and his business. I only ask pardon for 
rudely thrusting a compliment upon you, if it seemed 
to you that I was rude.’' 

“Now, Dr. Dunbarr, you possess my uncon- 
ditional pardon, if pardon can be in existence when 
no offense has been committed;” and Gertrude’s re- 
strained mirth found expression in a merry little 
laugh. 

At this Mr. Bronson joined them, shook hands 
with Dunbarr, conversed for a moment, and then, 
with Gertrude, bade the doctor good-night. 

Wednesday forenoon. Miss Bronson called at the 
home of Thomas Wilson. She found him restless 
and nearly devoid of hope. He was disinclined to 
enter into conversation with her. This was due to 
his own conviction that he had proven untrue to the 
teaching he had received from her. Gertrude, under- 
standing his reticence, engaged herself to overcome 
it. She began by saying, “Mr. Wilson, how soon 
do you wish to resume work at the factory?” 

“Kin Oi iver worruk there ag’in. Miss?” asked 
Wilson, lifting his face out of his hands and straight- 
ening up in his chair. 

“Why, certainly, as soon as you are able; what 
iS to hinder you ?” 

“O, Oi thought loikely that Oi would be wanted 
there no more at all. Miss.” 


“Oi ’m Cornin’ Back Ag’in” 215 

^‘Did you not understand that Willie was to work 
at the Iron Works until you were able to take your 
place again V 

‘'Yis, Miss, it was so said ; but, Miss, that was 
soom wakes ago, when it war different wid me.” 

'‘Yes; but, Mr. Wilson, I have just come from 
my father’s office with his word to you that you 
can have your old place back again at any day that 
you wish it ; and that Willie can continue to work 
at the factory at the wages that he is now receiving, 
if you desire him to do so.” 

“It ’s a good mon. Miss, that yer father is, sure, 
an’ Oi send me thanks to him by yez, if yez plaise. 
Miss. But Oi kint jist shtate when Oi ’ll coom to me 
worruk. Oi must consult wid Dr. Dunbarr aboot 
it.” 

“We saw your doctor last night, and he said 
that you are able to resume work at any time that 
you choose. You will be somewhat weak at first, 
he says, but you will soon regain your usual strength. 
He thought, also, that it would be best for you to 
begin soon.” 

“Did he say. Miss, that it would hilp to cure me 
thirst an’ kape me off the strates?” 

“No, not just that, but that it would take your 
mind from yourself to be fully occupied.” 

“An’ did he say. Miss, that he had a bit o’ hope 
left fur me to overcoom the wakeness fur shtrong 
dhrink ?” 

“He did not speak as to that, yet I am sure that 
he has never once thought of giving you up to your 
enemies ; neither have I, Mr. Wilson.” 

“An’ have yez not, sure ? Oi faered ye ’d all let 


2i6 


As They Did It 


go o’ me now, sayin’, ‘There ’s no use to thry more 
to hilp so wake an’ bad a mon as Tom Wilson.’ ” 

“No, sir; Mr. Wilson, we are still hoping that 
you will some day master your own appetite, and 
be able to help others.’’ 

“Indade, it ’s glad Oi am to haer yez say it ; fur 
it wakens a bit o’ hope in me poor heart,”' replied 
Wilson, with deep feeling. “But, Miss, how will it 
be wid Him yez shpoke aboot, who called me, poor 
mon that Oi am, to him that he moight hilp me more 
than any oother mon kin hilp me. Will he shtill 
kape a bit o’ hope fur me. Miss ?” 

“Mr. Wilson, he holds to you with a deeper 
interest and loves you with a greater love than any 
mortal can; and, at a time when you need him so 
much, he will not forsake you.” 

“But, Miss, Oi ’ve forsook him, mesilf ; turned me 
back onto him, loike. This war bad, very bad in 
me; an’, it sanies, Oi kint look him into the face 
now no more, at all, at all.” 

“Mr. Wilson, did you ever hear the story of the 
prodigal son — the son who went away from his 
father’s house and did not return until after a long- 
time?” 

“It sanies. Miss, that Oi did haer o’ it upon a 
toinie ; but Oi ’d mooch loike to haer yez tell it 
to me.” 

“I could tell it to you, but I have a little book 
here that tells it better than I can ; and we will let 
it tell us the story;” and she took a dainty copy of 
the New Testament from her shopping-bag and read 
the story of the prodigal son. Wilson listened with 
increasing interest ; and when she came to the words, 


“Oi ’m Cornin’ Back Ag’in” 


217 


'‘But when he was yet a great way off, his father 
saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell 
on his neck, and kissed him,^’ Wilson, who with 
parted lips and tearful eyes was staring at Gertrude, 
asked, in a tone that was akin to a sob, “Would yez 
moind. Miss, jist to read that part ag’in to me ?” 

When she had finished reading, there was silence 
for a moment, and then Wilson asked, “Have yez 
a koind word. Miss, as to what the story may mane 
to me?” 

“I could point out the application that we may 
make of it, Mr. Wilson ; but I think you have a cor- 
rect idea of its teachings, and I wish you to tell me 
what the story means to you.” 

“Well, Miss, Oi kint jist tell it well to yez, but 
its loike this : Oi ’m the lad what ’s gone away into 
the fur-oof land, and have lost me all. Miss, by doin’ 
bad, very bad. An’ now Oi ’m coomin’ back ag’in ; 
or else Oi ’d die in that fur land where no wan is 
who keers to hilp me. An’ whilst Oi ’m coomin’ 
along, lame loike. He who keers fur me an’ kin hilp 
me is thinkin’ o’ me, an’ whilst he ’s thinkin’ he 
looves me an’ he cooms to where Oi am, an’ throws 
his arrums aboot me neck an’ kisses me. An’ afther 
that. Miss, how kin Oi hilp but go back home ag’in 
wid him? An’ may the shtory mane that to me. 
Miss? Tell me, plaise.” 

“Mr. Wilson, it may and does mean just that 
to you ; and as there were welcome and food and 
clothing and a pledge of love and a home, wherein 
was rejoicing, given to the returned prodigal, so 
are there welcome, and comfort, and strength, and 
love, and, finally, a home of eternal rejoicing given 


2i8 


As They Did It 


to all who will come back to the Father’s house with 
penitence and with humble, trustful determination 
never willfully to wander away again. In your com- 
ing back to Him, Mr. Wilson, I see your greatest 
hope. Do just as the prodigal did ; tell him that you 
have sinned; tell him that you are sorry for your 
sin ; tell him that you come back intending to re- 
main. He knows what you need and he will minister 
to your necessities. Now, if I can know that you 
have come back to the Christ for the help that you 
need, I shall feel very hopeful for you, and shall go 
to my home very happy. Shall we expect you to 
begin work soon?” 

^'Yis, Miss, as soon as next wake or airlier. An’ 
yez may go home happy ; fur Oi ’m cCH^min’ back 
ag’in to Him who kin, yez say, hilp me more ’n all 
good mons.” 

Gertrude tarried for a few minutes to converse 
with Mrs. Wilson, and she found her quite hopeful. 
Her hope was, in part, expressed in the following: 
''The s’loon mons are mad at Tom, now, an ’ll not 
be fur coaxin’ aboot him longer. An’ soon he ’ll 
be a-worrukin’, too, an’ he an’ oor Willie kin arn 
mooch, an’ soon we kin dress oop a bit, an’ all coom 
oot to soom ov ye’r noight matin’s.” 

"The future for you does seem brighter, Mrs. 
Wilson, and we will all take cheer and do our best 
and ask the Christ to help us in all our ways. A 
good-morning to you now.” 

Mrs. Stevens had invited Deacon Grimes and wife 
to spend Wednesday evening at her home. She had 
said to Mrs. Milford : "It will be so delightful to be 
associated with these congenial minds for a whole 


“Oi’m Cornin’ Back Ag’in” 219 

long evening. The deacon and his estimable wife 
are people after our own hearts.’' 

Although the clouds which thickly overspread the 
sky sent forth, at times, vast sheets of snow, and 
although the brisk northeast wind caught up this 
snow and flung it with angry vigor and equal force 
through crevices of cottage, against window-panes 
of mansion, and into the face of the pedestrian, yet 
Deacon and Mrs. Grimes went cheerfully forth to 
meet their evening engagement, and the home of 
Mrs. Stevens beamed forth a cordial and luxurious 
cheer. 

“Your usually hospitable home, Mrs. Stevens, 
seems more than ever cozy and cheerful to-night, as 
we come in put of the storm,” remarked Mrs. Grimes. 

“We ’ll keep the storm all outside to-night, for 
here our friendly hearts shall beat in perfect con- 
cord,” replied Mrs. Stevens, as she smiled benignly 
upon her guests. 

The moments passed swiftly by and the time 
allotted for the evening visit had fully half gone 
before Church matters were introduced, and then 
the introduction came about casually, as the follow- 
ing will indicate : 

“I attended a lawsuit yesterday,” remarked 
Deacon Grimes, “the first one I have attended for 
years. Hardly a lawsuit either ; it was the examina- 
tion of Bill Graves, who was charged with selling 
liquor to Tom Wilson, an habitual drunkard.” 

“What came of it, and what is likely to come of 
it?” asked Walter Milford. 

“O, Graves was bound over to the Circuit Court, 
and there is likely to be a prolonged trial, resulting 


220 


As They Did It 

in his acquittal and an enormous expense to the 
county. Graves is a quiet, law-abiding citizen, I 
think. He pays some taxes and each year puts $250 
into the city treasury and a like amount into the 
treasury of the county. But Tom Wilson is a worth- 
less Irishman ; all he has, with himself thrown in, 
is not worth one quarter of the expense that this suit 
will bring upon the county.’’ 

^‘Who began the suit?” asked Mrs. Milford. 

think that it was Wilson’s wife who made the 
complaint; but she never would have done so had 
she not been prompted by other parties.” 

“Who encouraged her to begin the suit ?” asked 
Mrs. Stevens. 

“I do not know positively, but I think that the 
members of the Anti-saloon League advised her to 
do so, and have pledged her their support in the 
cause. This temperance organization is one of the 
auxiliaries of your Church, Mrs. Stevens.” 

“Of your Church as well,” retorted Mrs. Stevens ; 
“but I will not censure you. Deacon, for I remember 
how manfully and publicly you opposed its organiza- 
tion.” 

“By the way,” continued Mr. Grimes, “I under- 
stand that this Temperance League intends to try 
to continue all temperance sympathizing officers in 
office, and to nominate and choose for municipal 
office none but such as shall favor the rigid enforce- 
ment of all temperance laws. This means the sup- 
pression of the saloon. Ewery saloon that is closed 
means a shortage of $500 cash in the treasuries of 
the city and county. Close all the saloons of our 
city, and you would withhold $7,500 from these 


“Oi’m Cornin’ Back Ag’in” 


221 


treasuries, and you discourage fifteen firms that are 
doing an attractive and legitimate business in our 
city, and you render useless thousands of dollars’ 
worth of business property. This is one of the noble 
enterprises of your Church, Mrs. Stevens and Mr. 
Grimes feigned an abridged laugh that gave slight 
expression to his contempt. 

“Please show fairness. Deacon, and say our 
Church ; for you understand my attitude toward all 
these new enterprises of the Church.’’ 

“Am I to understand that you favor the saloon 
and liquor-traffic?” inquired Mr. Milford. 

“Well, no; I would not be taken in just that 
light. But the saloon is here. It has an appreciable 
and, perhaps, on the whole, a helpful part in the in- 
dustrial afYairs of the city. The law provides for 
its existence. Those who are engaged in the saloon 
business are holding up their heads and trying to 
gain the respect of good and religious society by 
giving pecuniary aid to worthy and religious under- 
takings. I hold that we can not afford unitedly to 
engage ourselves to ruin the saloon and persecute 
those who are engaged in the business.” 

“That is to say, by certain ingenious circumlocu- 
tions, that you do favor the saloon and the liquor- 
traffic,” added Walter Milford. “But how does your 
Anti-saloon League propose to restrict the saloon? 
Is it not by proving that the saloon is continuously 
breaking the laws, which, you say, ‘provide for its 
existence,’ and, therefore, by exposing its criminal- 
ity? And is it not a noble and humane undertaking 
to expose crime and to bring the criminal to justice ? 
And, again, ought not one to be proud of his Church 


222 


As They Did It 


when she takes a positive part in the suppression of 
crime and in the exaltation of honor and nobility?’’ 

'‘Come, come, Walter!” interrupted Mrs. Milford; 
"we all understand that you have championed a cause 
which opposes itself to your own convictions, and 
that you do so for the sake of argument and they 
laughingly turned to a more agreeable topic. 


CHAPTER XV 


Not Every Man His Price 

‘ ‘ He that walketh righteously, and speaketh uprightly ; he that 
despiseth the gain of oppressions, that shake th his hands from holding 
of bribes, that stoppeth his ears from hearing of blood, and shutteth his 
eyes from seeing evil ; he shall dwell on high : his place of defense shall 
be the munitions of rocks : bread shall be given him ; his water shall be 
sure. ’ ' 

coming city election was the main topic of 
^ discussion among the citizens of Warden dur- 
ing the last two weeks of March, and it soon be- 
came apparent that the issue would be temperance 
or anti-temperance. 

‘‘You Church temperance folks have pushed us 
so hard and drove us so fur that we ’ll have to do 
somethin’ fur ourselves in this cornin’ city election. 
You need not think that we ’ll set down with our 
fingers in our mouths and let you have it all your 
own way. You ’ll find that we ’ve got some friends 
when we come up to the ballot-box.” 

The above few sentences were addressed to 
Deacon Grimes by Bill Graves, as they chanced to 
meet in Bryant’s grocery. 

“What do you hope to accomplish on election- 
day?” asked the deacon. 

“We ’ll turn out some of them officers that are 
so mighty keen to ‘enforce the law,’ as they style it.” 

223 


224 


As They Did It 


^^Well, how do you propose to go at it?’^ 

^'We know how to go at it, and how to carry it 
through too. We dl be at the caucus, and we dl 
know jest what we 're there fur ; and that will be to 
nominate jest sich a ticket as we want. And when 
we git our ticket, we dl all stand by it, and we dl git 
enough others to stand with us to carry things all 
our own wa3^ We know how to git votes, we do; 
and we dl git 'm all right enough. Of course, we dl 
put up clean men, sich as the good citizens of Warden 
can and will support ; but they won’t be any of your 
conscientious temperance fellows that we ’ll put into 
office; no, sir. We’ve had enough of sich.” 

“I can’t blame you a bit. Graves. I, myself, like 
to see fair play. To be sure, I am a temperance man ; 
but I am not in sympathy with this hair-brained tem- 
perance work that we have had of late.” 

^^We understand you. Deacon, and we knew that 
we could count you on our side. I would not have 
been fool enough to talk to you as I have this 
mornin’, if we fellows did not know where you stand 
all right. If your hull Church was made up of sich 
Christian gentlemen as you, we ’d all stand by the 
Church, and there ’d be no lack of money nor popu- 
larity.” 

'‘But if the election takes this turn, giving such 
an entirely new basis, the old party lines will dis- 
appear, and the tickets will likely be given new 
names,” suggested the deacon. 

"O yes ; we understand that. There ’s nothin’ 
in the old parties that we ’ve any use fur in this elec- 
tion, except the men ; and, of course, we do n’t need 
the party name. W e ’ve already got a name fur our 


Not Every Man His Price 225 

ticket. We shall call ours ‘The Law and Order’ 
ticket, and that, sir, is a winner.” 

“That does sound well, and it will look well also, 
and, doubtless, will prove attractive. All that our 
citizens can reasonably ask for is that we have a city 
government which will enforce our laws and main- 
tain order. I have noticed that the ticket whose 
name suggests the promise of the greatest number 
of good things is the strong ticket. A great number 
of our good citizens are too busy or too careless 
about such things to read, thoroughly, much farther 
than the head-lines of the ticket that they vote. But 
I must bid you a good-morning now;” and the 
deacon left the store. But Graves followed him and 
spoke in a lower tone when they were upon the 
street. 

“The notice of our caucus was posted last night, 
and it is to be held one week from to-morrow after- 
noon at two o’clock. Now, we want you to be pres- 
ent and aid our cause all you can. I am not sure 
but we shall nominate you fur the alderman to be 
chosen in the Second Ward.” 

“No; I could not consent to that. Graves. You 
may be sure of my quiet support, but I must decline 
a place on the ticket, and must not be expected to 
take any public part in the campaign.” 

“Really now, Deacon, this is disappointin’. 
We ’ve sort of set our hearts on you, and hoped that 
you ’d do some tellin’ work fur our cause ; and I ’m 
sure that we ’d make it pay you right well in the 
long run.” 

“Graves, you fellows do not know what it would 
cost me if I should openly oppose these fanatical 

15 


226 


As They Did It 


temperance people. I should lose my popularity with 
my Church and Church society, and, besides, I 
should lose the patronage of many who now trade 
with me. You know that I am one of the leading 
drygoods-dealers in our city, and a great per cent 
of my customers are the class that will oppose your 
ticket. I can not afford to lose favor with them.’’ 

‘^But, Deacon, you would be sure of the trade 
of the saloon men and of all our party if you ’d step 
right out and advocate our ticket; and this would 
be more than you ’d lose by them pious folks a-leavin’ 
you.” 

‘'But, Graves, you do not see the entire situation. 
I now am favored with the patronage of you thrifty 
liquor-dealers and your friends, and by remaining 
neutral on all such public issues I hold the patronage 
of those on both sides. No; I can not afford to 
take an openhanded part in this matter; but I have 
my own way for such work, and you may depend 
upon me;” and the deacon bowed to his friend, and 
hastened on to his store. 

Graves went his way also, and thought audibly 
as he walked: “The deacon is a shrewd fellow, sure. 
He intends to hold on to all of us. After all, I can 
not blame him much; fur he, like the rest of us fel- 
lows, is jest lookin’ after his own business — has jest 
got his eye onto himself an’ onto nobody else. But, 
some way, he would seem more like a man if he 
would stand out onto one side or the other.” 

At about 5.30 in the afternoon of this same day. 
Deacon Grimes informed the foreman of his store 
that he was going out and might not be back again 
before the establishment was closed for the day — 


Not Every Man His Price 227 

six o’clock. As he stepped upon the street he en- 
countered Dr. Burns, and, as their destinations lay 
in the same direction, they walked several blocks 
together. After some general remarks and a few 
questions with reference to the spring trade. Dr. 
Burns remarked : 

''Deacon Grimes, it is my opinion that our com- 
ing municipal election is to be the most important 
one that the city has held for many years — one that 
will materially affect moral conditions.” 

"Why do you hold such an opinion. Doctor? 
What is to be the real issue?” 

"In my opinion, the real question to be settled 
is whether we are to have a temperance or a liquor 
municipal government ; and whichever way this 
question is decided, the moral condition of our city 
will be affected accordingly. The majority of our 
present municipal officers favor temperance to that 
extent that they willingly and promptly aid in the 
enforcement of our liquor laws. Saloon lawlessness 
has been curtailed remarkably in the last six months. 
If we can continue such a government, the moral 
standard will be exalted among us ; but if not, this 
standard must go down. The liquor men have come 
to know that their business demands municipal offi- 
cers that are more in sympathy with the liquor-traffic, 
and they intend to elect such, if possible, at our 
coming election.” 

"But, Doctor, you do not think that they can 
accomplish this?” 

"I do think. Deacon Grimes, that it will require 
the combined, energetic effort of the temperance 
people to prevent this. These liquor-men are thor- 


228 


As They Did It 


oughly aroused, and, 1 am aware, are already vigor- 
ously at work. They have issued a call for a caucus 
to convene one week from to-morrow at two o’clock 
in the afternoon. ‘All who favor Law and Order,’ 
the call reads, ‘are requested to be present and aid 
in nominating a clean ticket ;’ and, doubtless, they 
intend to see to it that enough saloon sympathizers 
will be present to nominate an anti-temperance 
ticket.” 

“Do you think that the temperance people are 
generally aware of this movement, and are they likely 
to bestir themselves?” 

“Yes; I think that they are quite generally ap- 
prised of the intentions of the liquor-men, and they 
do not intend to be caught napping. A call for a 
caucus has been posted this afternoon. The caucus 
is to be held in the city hall at two o’clock, one week 
from Saturday afternoon.” 

“What name will this ticket bear?” 

“I am not sure ; but the ‘Good Citizenship Ticket’ 
has been suggested, and I presume the ticket will 
bear that name. Certainly it is a cause that should 
interest all good citizens, and its sole object is good 
citizenship. -We shall endeavor to induce a large 
number of our best citizens to attend this caucus to 
help nominate a strong ticket and to give their per- 
sonal support to this ticket. I trust. Deacon Grimes, 
that you will give your influence and personal force 
to this cause.” 

“Doubtless, Doctor, you understand my temper- 
ance principles, and will feel assured that you have 
my personal sympathy in this matter.” 

“But, Deacon, I feel that at this time every good 


Not Every Man His Price 


229 


mail should throw the sum-total of his force on the 
side of temperance and good citizenship. 1 feel that 
to assume a passive attitude will be to commit a 
great sin.” 

‘'Doctor, you must remember that you look upon 
this matter from the standpoint of a moral reformer ; 
while others, myself included, consider such matters 
from a business man’s point of view.” 

“You are suggesting. Deacon, that which I some- 
times have felt is too true ; namely, business men, 
as a rule, are not engaged in moral reform. Do you 
mean just that ?” 

“No; and it seems that you go far out of your 
way to arrive at such a conclusion. I merely intended 
to suggest that as a moral reformer you see only 
the open field of positive conquest against what 
seems to you to be a flagrant evil; while we, as 
business men, may comprehend this same moral 
situation, yet we have to look also to other con- 
ditions which are vital to our business interests.” 

“Pardon me. Deacon, if I misunderstood you; 
but I think that you are saying that moral reforms 
and business interests sometimes clash, and that you 
are suggesting that the moral phase in this coming 
city election furnishes such an instance.” 

“I think that you take unwarranted liberty in 
your interpretation of my statement ; but I am frank 
to admit that for me to throw the sum-total of my 
personal force and influence upon either side in this 
election would be to do that which would be in- 
compatible with my interests as a merchant. 
Whereas, to assume a passive attitude — to commit 
that ‘great sin,’ as you put it — I can render a safe 


230 


As They Did It 


yet telling service to the cause. You see, Doctor, 
that the course of a well-disposed business man in 
a matter like this is more complicated than is the 
course of a man of your calling ; and yet we business 
men, in our way of working, may be depended upon.’' 

'‘You assume. Deacon Grimes, that a minister 
has no great temptation to be a sleek-policy man; 
that selfish, worldly interests never prompt him to 
smile upon everybody and every enterprise with a 
good-Lord-and-good-devil sort of grace; that he is 
never tempted to withdraw from the conquest of 
right against the patent and popular iniquities of 
this generation, and, by so doing, add to his own 
popularity and to his bank account. Yet a man of 
your observation and penetration must know that 
it costs much — as the world counts cost — to be a 
genuine Christian man; and it matters but little 
whether the man be a minister or a merchant. You 
will pardon me if I have spoken with some emphasis 
this evening. I have come to feel deeply concern- 
ing this matter. It is a matter in which positive 
right and positive wrong are crossing swords ; and 
there should be left no doubt in the mind of the 
public upon which side a professed follower of 
Christ is.” 

“I confess. Doctor, that I do not share your 
enthusiasm on this subject. Perhaps I should. This 
much is sure : we have known each other for a good 
number of years, and we can afford to speak frankly 
to each other upon this and all other subjects;” and 
at this they parted. 

As the times for holding the caucuses drew near, 
the citizens of Warden became more earnest and 


Not Every Man His Price 


231 


active for the respective sides which they had 
espoused, though, in the main, their efforts were 
quiet and of a private nature. 

On Monday afternoon of the week in which the 
caucuses were held, a well-dressed stranger entered 
the office of Dr. Dunbarr, and addressed him as 
follows : 

'‘This is Dr. Dunbarr, I believe.” 

On being assured that he was correct, he con- 
tinued : “My name is Welch. I wish a private inter- 
view with you. Doctor. Are we alone?” 

Dunbarr informed him that the student had gone 
out for an hour, and that none but they two were 
in or about the office, and Welch continued: 

“Doctor, I have called upon you to speak in the 
behalf of others, as well as in behalf of my own 
interests. We understand that you are an influential 
young physician in the city, and that especially do 
you have great influence with a class of your citi- 
zens who are engaging themselves against the 
business interests of those in whose behalf I am 
acting.” 

Dunbarr eyed the stranger sharply, and at first 
his thin, pale face bore a puzzled expression, but 
later he began to surmise what cause the young man 
was representing. 

“I will not take your valuable time,” continued 
Welch, “to set forth the rights of the liquor-dealers 
in your city. I assume that they have rights — in 
this, doubtless we are agreed — and that these rights 
have been unreasonably restricted. The coming city 
election, I understand, will decide whether this mu- 
nicipal government shall or shall not be one which 


232 


As They Did It 


will be prejudiced against saloon-keepers and liquor- 
dealers. We are aware that temperance sentiment 
has run high here for the last three months, and 
that many of the citizens have become fanatics on 
the subject ; it is therefore difficult to determine just 
how strong these temperance enthusiasts will prove 
to be at the ballot-box. It is believed that the two 
parties are about evenly matched ; and it is also 
thought, Doctor, that the balance of power may lie 
with you, should you exert yourself. Now, we ap- 
preciate the fact that you are a man of too great 
integrity to champion a cause that you have not 
full faith in. To champion a cause is one thing, and 
to lapse into a passive attitude or to assume a neutral 
state is quite another thing. I have, therefore, this 
offer to make you : If you will become neutral or 
indifferent concerning this election, I will pay you 
five hundred dollars in cash and will never expose 
you. That is not a very great amount, yet it is a 
fair sum just for being quiet. Were you to become 
an advocate of our cause and would pledge us your 
vote we could afiford to name you a sum that would 
be worth your while.” 

'‘Mr. Welch,” Dunbarr replied, slowly, "you over- 
estimate my influence, and you mistake me entirely. 
My influence, as I understand it, is comparatively 
little ; but such as it is, you and all your friends are 
not rich enough to buy it. Whatever else I may 
lack, I believe that I am a true man ; and true man- 
hood is never in the market. Moreover, Mr. Welch, 
I am a Christian ; and a Christian can never take 
neutral ground when right and wrong are met in 


Not Every Man His Price 


233 


vital conflict. This mistake of yours pains me ; not 
that you have misjudged me, but that you are mis- 
led. You are acting to-day on the theory that ^every 
man has his price.'’ I fear that too many hold this 
theory. You seem to be a bright, well-educated 
young man — a lawyer, I presume. You are capable 
of becoming a mighty power for truth, nobility, and 
righteousness. But you have started out on an 
evil way. You have a wrong view of life’s true goal. 
Money is not the true goal of life. Worldly popu- 
larity is not. To fear God and to work righteous- 
ness is the whole duty and beautiful mission of man. 
Perhaps you had or still have a Christian mother; 
if so, she would tell you that what I am saying is 
true. It is probable that you are the attorney of 
some brewery or distilling company in some distant 
city. I feel that there is nobler employment for 
your talent. I wish that you would seek it. I wish 
that you would vow, before you leave my office, 
never again to tempt a fellow-man to evil or to take 
a dishonorable course.” 

Welch looked annoyed as he arose and said: 
^'Doctor, I did not call upon you for moral or re- 
ligious instruction ; I only came in on a mere matter 
of business, and I am sorry that I can not do busi- 
ness with you.” 

‘T am sorry also,” said Dunbarr, rising and look- 
ing kindly but searchingly into the young man’s 
eyes, “that your business here is of such a char- 
acter that it is impossible for us to agree upon it ; 
and, unless I misjudge you, your nobler nature is 
ashamed of such kind of business. I hope that some 


234 


As They Did It 


happier object may occasion our meeting again/’ 
and he offered his hand to the young man. 

Welch took the proffered hand, pressed it warmly, 
smiled approvingly, and went out. As he walked 
leisurely and thoughtfully back to the place where 
a number of liquor-dealers were waiting his return, 
he spoke occasionally to himself, to relieve his per- 
plexed mind. Among other utterances were the fol- 
lowing : ‘‘Instead of buying my man, I feel as if I 
had sold out to him. An unusual piece of humanity 
is this Dr. Dunbarr. Not many of his sort have 
I ever met. He nearly caused me to hate myself. 
After all, I like the fellow. If I ever should desire 
to be a better man, he is the very man I ’d go to 
for help. If there is any good left in a fellow, he 
is the one who is sure to find it and turn it up to 
the light. Not much like these boozy, base-minded 
clients of mine, who are waiting for my return. He 
wished that some more worthy object might oc- 
casion our future meeting. Well, if I ever call upon 
him again, it will be for a worthy object. Tut, tut ! 
Harry Welch, how much you are confessing in these 
few sentences !” 

His clients were not much surprised at the answer 
Welch brought them : “He ’s not in the market. 
One thousand dollars would have no more effect 
with him than one cent would.” 

“Well,” remarked one, significantly, “he has lost 
his last chance to get money out of this affair. He ’ll 
play a losing hand from this time out.” 

The meeting of the Anti-saloon League was well 
attended on this Monday night. A number of 
thoughtful, earnest speeches were made, and wise 


Not Every Man His Price 235 

plans were formed. Dunbarr spoke, but said noth- 
ing of the visit which Welch had made him. He 
urged the necessity of vigilance and unanimity, both 
at the caucus and at the polls. ^‘Those who oppose 
us,” said he, ''will not spare their time nor their 
money in this election. Their effort will be united 
and persistent.” 

The caucuses were largely attended, and there 
was unmistakable evidence of much preliminary 
work. If many of the best-disposed and order-loving 
citizens were attracted by the misleading caption, 
"Law and Order,” they were outnumbered two to 
one by those who sympathized with the liquor-trade ; 
and it was soon apparent that this latter class would 
dominate the caucus. All went smoothly, however, 
during the preliminaries of organizing, and until 
nominations for mayor became the order. At this 
period many were astonished to hear James K. Lock- 
wood promptly nominated, and the nomination 
seconded by, seemingly, two-thirds of all present. 
The chairman waited for a moment as if he ex- 
pected others to be placed in nomination for the po- 
sition, and then ordered the ballot to be taken. At 
this a venerable Baptist deacon arose, and de- 
liberately addressed the meeting as follows : 

"Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen, — I fear that I 
have been misled. I am becoming quite positive 
in my conviction that this is not the primary with 
which I wish to identify myself. The man who has 
been nominated, and who seems to be the choice 
of this caucus for mayor of our city, can never 
grace a 'Law and Order^ ticket. I will grant that 
he is rich, and is talented, and is shrewd; but I can 


236 


As They Did It 


grant but little more in his favor. You do not for- 
get, gentlemen — it certainly can not be forgotten — 
that less than six years ago this same man was 
obliged to leave our city because of his own irregular 
conduct, and that this irregular conduct involved 
a question of business integrity, a question of morals, 
a question of social purity. This same party has not 
been returned from his exile quite two years as yet, 
and has made no public acknowledgment of his folly, 
and — to the best of my knowledge — has made no 
private reparation. And now you seek him to lead 
a Xaw and Order’ ticket, as candidate for mayor 
of our prosperous little city! No, gentlemen; I can 
not countenance such a procedure, and I will not 
be recorded as voting in any caucus which will ap- 
prove such conduct; and I shall pity our city if the 
time ever comes when its government shall be ad- 
ministered by a party which chooses to office such 
characters as Mr. Lockwood ;” and the deacon turned 
upon his heel, and started for the door. But before 
he left the hall, a large and well-dressed man laid 
his hand upon his shoulder, saying, in a low tone : 
‘‘Wait a minute. Deacon Johnson. Do not go out 
so abruptly. Stay with us and give us your support, 
and we will make it rich for you. We are able to 
do it.’’ 

“No; you are not able to do it. Your money 
perish with you !” replied the deacon with some em- 
phasis, and immediately made his exit; and, to their 
credit be it said, more than a dozen others followed 
him. Mr. Lockwood found no other barriers in his 
way to the chief place on the “Law and Order” 
ticket, and those who were nominated as alderman 


Not Every Man His Price 237 

from the different wards were of such character as 
would harmonize with him. 

At the ''Good Citizenship” caucus, held on Satur- 
day afternoon, there was comparative unanimity, the 
only discordant element being that which had come 
in from the "Law and Order” party to witness, as 
they explained, "how good citizens did business.” 
It was the sense of this caucus that the municipal 
administration which was about to expire had been, 
in the main, commendable, and that such servants 
of the public should be continued in office. "I am 
convinced,” remarked Jerome Bronson at the close 
of a short but effectual speech, "that I voice the 
sentiment of a large majority of those present when 
I say that our city, during the last year, has been 
well controlled; and I have in mind a gentleman 
who, if chosen to the office for which I shall nominate 
him, will do all that is within his power to vouchsafe 
to us a pure and prosperous administration. The 
gentleman to whom I refer, and whom I now nom- 
inate as mayor of our city for the ensuing term, is 
none other than the present incumbent of that office, 
Casper P. Cummings.” 

The nomination was received with applause, and 
when the ballot was taken Mr. Cummings was the 
unanimous choice. The other positions were given 
to men of known ability and integrity, and none 
could doubt that this was a ticket pledged to good 
citizenship. 

At about 8.30, on this Saturday night, as 
Dunbarr was returning from a professional visit he 
stopped at the church. A program of songs and 
instrumental music and of literary selections was 


238 


As They Did It 


nearly concluded when he entered the brilliantly- 
lighted lecture-room and sat down near the door. 
He was weary in mind and body, and he gave him- 
self up to the charm of the music and to reflections 
prompted by the diversified scenery before him. 
Here, sitting in front of him, was a mixed company — 
one representing nearly all of the sets of society 
and phases of life of the city. Yonder to his right, 
and quite near the front, sat Thomas Wilson with 
his wife and two little girls. Willie was not with 
them ; but his bright face, aglow with appreciation, 
was seen at the left, with those who had taken seats 
in the reception-room, or reading-room, as it was 
now called. His position was such that he could 
nearly face the orchestra, the speakers, and his 
parents. He had said to his parents, ‘T ’ll set in 
another part of the house so ’s to ketch what ’s 
goin’ on there, an’ to tell you ; an’ then we ’ll have 
’most all of it.” 

As he looked upon that audience Dunbarr 
thought : “These employees of the shops and fac- 
tories, and these who represent the poor and desti- 
tute classes of our city, and these restless — not to 
say reckless — young men, might be occupied with 
that which is perverting, if not ruinous, were not 
these pleasant rooms and this free entertainment 
open to them.” But at this point his pleasant re- 
flections were interrupted by a sacred duet entitled, 
“Man’s Only Hope is Jesus,” and he was sure that 
he had never heard Marian Mills and Gertrude Bron- 
son sing better than they then sang. By this song 
the audience was hushed into an almost tearful 
silence, which was broken only by the mild voice 


Not Every Man His Price 


239 


of Dr. Burns in the following benediction : '‘Our 
Father, who art in heaven, thou hast favored us with 
this hour, and we thank thee. Help us all to love 
thee. Help us to love one another. Help us to 
abhor all that is evil. Through Christ, save us from 
the power of evil. Amen.'^ 


f 


CHAPTER XVI 

Inasmuch 

‘‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my 
brethren, ye have done it unto me.” 

Spiritual awakening which was being ex- 
^ perienced by the First Church of Warden was 
affecting all the departments of this Church. From 
the first of the year until now, the Sunday-school had 
evinced a constant growth in interest and in num- 
bers. In the past, this Sunday-school had numbered 
in its force of teachers many who were careful and 
capable ; but never before had the Sunday-school of 
this Church a body of teachers so thoroughly con- 
secrated as at this time. These teachers were com- 
ing to feel the sacredness of their office — that of 
teaching immortal beings the everlasting Word of 
God. There was conscientious and prayerful prepa- 
ration of each lesson. The teachers’ meeting, which 
had been recently revived, occasioned the gather- 
ing of inquiring minds that eagerly sought for vital 
truth, and devout spirits that humbly sought in- 
spiration from the Divine Spirit. And the hour 
which was devoted each week to this meeting was 
an hour signalized by Divine approbation. These 
teachers, thus quickened in mind and in spirit, took 
a new inspiration to each of their classes, and a new 
life was imparted to the entire school. 

240 


f 


“Inasmuch” 241 

Early in March, Dr. Burns, in an address to his 
Sabbath-school teachers, had said: '‘We have noticed, 
with thankful pleasure, the revived condition of our 
school. In the past months and years we have taught 
with a commendable punctiliousness ; but we have 
not expected that the truths we have taught, and 
the general offices of the Sunday-school, should re- 
sult in the speedy conversion of our boys and girls. 
This has not been the chief object of our endeavor. 
I fear that there have been times when we did not 
desire, with a deep soul-longing, that every member 
of our school should be won for Christ. But we 
are expectant now, believing that God’s Word shall 
not return to him void. We are eager now to win 
our young people to Christ. We have something 
of the true evangelistic spirit, which leads us to go 
out into the by-places, as it were, to seek recruits 
for our Sunday-school; and our search is not in 
vain; our membership is increasing each week. We 
are approaching a period for which, I trust, our 
Master will especially prepare us. The last Sunday 
in March is, in our State, Sunday-school ‘Decision- 
day.’ We have never made any especial observance 
of the day. I advise that we never again permit this 
day to pass unobserved. It may be advisable to agree 
upon a uniform plan for observing it.” 

The doctor then introduced a plan which, with 
a few modifying suggestions, was agreed upon, and 
“Decision-day” was prayerfully and trustfully antici- 
pated. The order of opening the school on this last 
Sunday of March varied somewhat from the usual. 
A number of wisely-chosen selections were sung, 
and then several were asked to lead the school in 
16 


242 


As They Did It 

prayer. These prayers were short, simple, and very 
earnest. Before the lesson was taken up the super- 
intendent spoken briefly of “Decision-day,"’ of its ob- 
ject, and of the wisdom and beauty of deciding just 
now to be a servant of Christ. Dr. Burns was then 
requested to address the school. This he did briefly. 
He spoke of the deep interest that he believed Christ 
had in the spiritual welfare of every member of the 
school. “It is not enough,” said Dr. Burns, “that 
we learn concerning Christ, that we know some 
things of him, and that we understand his will con- 
cerning us. Christ can not be satisfied until we 
open the door of our lives, and invite him to come 
in and become our supreme Master and our dearest 
Friend. It is wisest and best for us to decide to-day 
to do this very thing. Some of you have thought 
of this, and have already made your decision. I 
desire that all decide, this very day, to be Christians. 
Your teachers are furnished with small Decision 
Cards, like this one which I hold before you. These 
cards read as follows: ‘Believing in Jesus Christ, 
the Son of the living God, as the Redeemer of the 
world and as my Savior, I now decide to consecrate 
myself to his service, and I do hereby express my 
desire to be a member of his Church and to live a 
Christian life.’ Your teachers will supply you with 
cards like this ; they have been teaching you God’s 
Word, and they have been praying earnestly that 
you may make this decision. I trust that you can in- 
telligently and conscientiously sign these cards and 
present them to your teachers as your decision. 
If you can not make this decision to-day, will you 
not please keep this card one week before you re- 


“ Inasmuch ” 


243 


turn it to your teacher? And in this week will you 
not earnestly think of this matter and pray over it? 
Before going farther, I desire to ask our Master 
to help each one of us in our decision to-day/’ 

After this prayer, which found an echo in every 
teacher’s heart, the cards were distributed; and then 
the school proceeded quite after the usual routine 
until the first bell for closing. The last five minutes 
were spent by the teachers in personal fellowship 
with their classes regarding their decisions, and in 
gathering the cards. At three o’clock of this Sun- 
day afternoon the superintendent and teachers met 
with their pastor to canvass the result of the effort 
for decisions. This canvass furnished true cause for 
humble thanksgiving; and yet a feeling of sadness 
was experienced by these Christian workers be- 
cause of the fact that some whom they loved, and 
for whom they had so often prayed, had returned 
their cards, but had withheld their names. “We 
must not despair of these,” advised Dr. Burns. “Our 
efforts must be renewed in their behalf, and we shall 
yet, let us trust, see them brought into the fold.” 

The pastor made a list of the pleasing number 
that had signed cards, and fixed an early date at 
which to meet all these, with their teachers, for Chris- 
tian conversation and advice. 

Dr. Burns, understanding that many of the adult 
members of his Church were anxiously waiting to 
hear the result of “Decision-day,” spoke of it in the 
prelude of his evening discourse. “The result is 
encouraging indeed,” said he, “and the matter has 
many features which are full of promise. Heaven 
never looks upon a more promising earth-scene than 


244 


As They Did It 


that wherein boyhood and girlhood begin life’s 
journey correctly; and none is absolutely correct in 
his choice until he has chosen Christ.” 

^'How is the city election likely to go?” asked 
Deacon Holcomb of Mr. Bronson on the last Mon- 
day afternoon of March. 

‘'I am all at sea as to even an opinion regarding 
the outcome of this election. It is evident that the 
hardest struggle will be for mayor. Of course there 
is no question as to the relative intellectual and 
moral fitness of the two candidates. Mr. Cummings 
has proven himself to be a very capable mayor, and 
he is a man of absolute integrity — just the man that 
our city needs at such a time in such an office. Mr. 
Lockwood has a very dark history. He has nothing 
to lose and everything to gain. He will hazard much 
upon this election. He understands that he can 
afford to do so ; for let it get out to the world that 
James K. Lockwood has been chosen to the mayor- 
alty of the city where but a few years ago it was 
said that he shamefully disgraced himself, and this 
same world will conclude that Mr. Lockwood was 
sinned against then, and that his city seeks to make 
amends now by placing him at the head of her mu- 
nicipal affairs. Only a few will take the time to gain 
possession of the knowledge that he got his position 
by virtue of the power of his own money, together 
with that of the liquor-dealers, to whom he pledged 
himself, and also by virtue of the influence of voters 
whose sense of morality is questionable. If we can 
elect Mr. Cummings, it will be a grand victory for 
good citizenship in our city. Otherwise the cause 


“ Inasmuch ” 


245 


of moral reform will be sadly retarded. Our cause 
has this encouraging feature : the best elements of 
our city are united in this campaign. I never saw 
the Church membership of our city so united on a 
moral issue as it is now. An organized effort, Dea- 
con Holcomb, will be put forth by both parties to 
gain this election.” 

‘‘Well, while. I am not a voter in this election, yet 
what influence I have I mean to exert. I intend to 
come into the city frequently during next week. We 
will arrange to have the Anti-saloon League pro- 
vide a conveyance, to and from the polls, for every 
aged or lame man who will vote right. If the liquor 
people succeed, it must be after we have done all 
that we can do.” 

Deacon Holcomb meant more than the calm ut- 
terance, “I mean to exert an influence this week,” 
would signify to one who did not know the deacon 
well. Although his large farming interests de- 
manded his immediate supervision, yet he took time 
to visit the city frequently, and he did exert his in- 
fluence. As president of the Anti-saloon League, 
he called together the different committees for a 
consultation meeting, and his earnest spirit aug- 
mented their earnestness, and his wise counsels 
guided them in ways of discreet effort. Several 
times in the week he came upon small companies 
of men who were discussing the general features 
and the points at issue in the coming election ; and 
he embraced these opportunities to speak wisely and 
with the force of convincing logic in behalf of a pure 
municipal government ; and if he found those who 
were wavering in their opinions he sought private 


246 


As They Did It 


interviews with them, endeavo'ring to establish them 
on the side of good citizenship. And thus he gave 
significance to his remark : “If the liquor people 
succeed it must be after we have done all that 
we can.’’ 

“Papa, how is the election going?” asked Ger- 
trude Bronson as she met her father in the dining- 
room at noon on the first Monday in April. 

“It is utterly impossible to foretell how it will 
terminate, Gertrude. The number that have voted 
up to this time is unusually large. It would seem 
that every qualified man is inclined to cast his ballot 
to-day. Conveyances, sent out by the Anti-saloon 
League, make it possible and pleasant for every in- 
firm, good-citizen voter to come to the polls ; and 
the liquor men are treating all the infirm of their 
party to a like courtesy ; yet all is unusually quiet and 
orderly in the city. I shall not return this evening 
until I learn the result of the election; so, if I am 
not on time, you need not delay tea for me.” 

“I will wait for you, papa; but you will return 
as early as you can, for you know our anxiety about 
the election; or, perhaps, I will come down to your 
office at about five o’clock, if it does not storm.” 

It did storm, and the afternoon seemed unusually 
long to Gertrude; and when her father returned in 
the evening, later than usual, she met him at the 
door just in time to see the retiring forms of two 
men, one of whom saw her and lifted his hat. 

“Who were those two gentlemen, papa?” asked 
Gertrude, nervously, when she had closed the hall 
door. “And did they come with you ? If so, why did 
they?” 


“ Inasmuch ” 


247 


“They were Dr. Burns and Dr. Dunbarr. They 
were with me when we learned the result of the 
election, and they remarked that they felt like taking 
a good, long walk, and asked to escort me home. 
But why are you so excited, Gertrude?” 

“O, I felt that something awful might happen 
to-day — you know that it does sometimes happen 
so, on election days — and the dim light, together 
with my bewilderment, prevented my prompt recog- 
nition of the gentlemen who accompanied you. But, 
papa,” continued Gertrude after she had drawn a 
long, deep breath, “tell me about the election, please. 
This has been one of the long afternoons of my life, 
I have been so anxious.” 

“Well, we have elected our mayor, but by a small 
majority. The opposing party succeeded in electing 
several aldermen. On the whole, our party won an 
important victory.” 

“How happy and thankful we should be and are ! 
But, papa, is it not unusual for a party to gain a 
mayor, yet lose several aldermen? Come into the 
dining-room, and, while we eat, tell me about that, 
and also state what you think this election signifies.” 

“In the first place,” resumed Mr. Bronson, when 
they were seated at the table, '^as we compare the 
two men, it is astonishing that Mr. Lockwood ran 
so strongly as he did against Mr. Cummings. But 
many of them, who would naturally vote with the 
liquor party, have no respect for Mr. Lockwood. 
In the case of some of the aldermen chosen to-day 
it is different. They maintain the respect of those 
with whom they affiliate, and are, by virtue of this 
respect and their wealth, influential with their party. 


248 


As They Did It 


As to your other implied question, the election to- 
day has several significant features. In the main, 
it demonstrates that the voters who favor a pure 
municipal government are not in the minority. It 
gives us a reasonable hope that moral reformation 
may be continued in our city affairs, and it will en- 
courage all organizations that are seeking to pro- 
mote moral and spiritual growth.'’ 

''But, papa, will not the liquor-dealers be more 
than ever angry at the temperance workers, and seek 
to do them injury?" 

"Possibly so; but for one to know that he has 
not the majority on his side, generally causes him 
to be less daring; and, also, our city government, 
in the year to come, will be able to place a greater 
restraint upon any who would attempt desperate 
lawlessness." 

"Well, papa, I hope that — that — all of the aggres- 
sive temperance people will be thoroughly guarded, 
and that they will take no unnecessary risks. There 
will be no demonstration to-night to celebrate our 
victory, will there?" 

"No, I think not. Dr. Burns remarked that had 
the other party been victorious, there would have 
been an animated demonstration to-night ; but as it 
is, we will go quietly on our way and save our am- 
munition." 

"I do hope that all will terminate well. I have 
been apprehensive of evil to-day. I think that I have 
not been my usual self. I am quite weary, and I 
will retire soon." 

"You have shared the extreme anxiety that the 
good citizens of Warden have experienced to-day," 


“ Inasmuch ” 


249 


replied her father, smiling. ‘‘A night of rest will 
bring back your wonted vigor and he kissed his 
daughter good-night. 

‘AVhat especial thing can we do now to benefit, 
socially, these women we have lately become inter- 
ested in ?” was asked by one of the Loyal Daughters 
at a meeting held at ]\Irs. Sawyer’s, on a Saturday 
afternoon early in April; and all eyes were turned 
toward ‘"Auntie” Sawyer for answer. 

""I would advise,” she replied — as if for her to 
answer were a matter of course — ""that you devise 
a means by which to get as many of them togethah 
as you can. You have visited them at their homes 
several times, and they ah quite well acquainted with 
you. It will benefit them to meet each othah and you 
in a social gathering. Invite them to meet of an 
afternoon in one of youah homes — my home, if you 
please. Prepare something to entahtain them, should 
the time begin to grow heavy with them ; and, at neah 
the time to disband, serve a simple tea. This will 
bring them into a closah fellowship with us and with 
one anothah, and in this closah fellowship ouah in- 
fluence will be fall greatah.” 

The suggestion pleased the Loyal Daughters, 
and the plan was acted upon promptly. The date 
fixed upon was the Tuesday afternoon next after 
Easter. ""This date has the grace of appropriateness ; 
for our tea may partake of the nature of an Easter 
gathering,” remarked Mrs. Burton. 

And so it came about. Invitations were promptly 
taken to every woman whom the ministrations of the 
Loyal Daughters had embraced ; and in response to 


250 


As They Did It 


these invitations many gathered on the afternoon 
of the first Tuesday after Easter; and the ample 
home of ‘‘Auntie’’ Sawyer never had contained, at 
any one time, so many castes of character, so many 
phases of human life, as on this occasion gathered 
there. A careful effort was made that all should be 
cordial and homelike. The Loyal Daughters, dressed 
plainly but neatly, cheerfully addressed themselves 
to the effort of pleasing and profiting their guests. 
There was genuine interest taken in exhibiting and 
explaining some stereoptic views of Eastern and 
Western scenery. There was discussion of some 
simple and useful crocheting and fancy needle-work. 
There was some cheerful instrumental music, and 
a few common hymns were devoutly sung. At first 
they were timid, and were as reserved toward one 
another as they were toward those who were enter- 
taining them ; but this restraint soon began to pass 
away, and when the time for departing came, all 
seemed measurably at ease, and were inclined to take 
part in general conversation. 

Mrs. Stevens had been apprised of this social 
gathering, and she had been curious to know just 
who would compose the company and what would 
be the character of the meeting; whether it would 
partake of a religious or a purely social nature. But 
she was determined not to intrude upon the meet- 
ing this time, and had said to her friend, Mrs. Mil- 
ford : “However curious I am, I shall not go in with- 
out a special invitation ; and this I can not expect 
from the Loyal Daughters ; for they understand too 
well my attitude toward all such eccentricities.” And 
when, from the window of her drawing-room, she 


‘‘Inasmuch’’ 


251 


saw the company gather at the home of Mrs. Sawyer, 
she exclaimed: '‘How thankful I am that I am not 
invited! Did you ever see such a social conglomer- 
ation! There are Mrs. George Graham, Mrs. Ned 
Campbell, Mrs. Tom Wilson, etc. The two extremes 
meet to-day, forming one social circle, from Mrs. 
Sawyer all the way around to Tom Wilson’s wife. 
One of two things is certain : the millennium is near 
at hand, or else the lunatic asylum will need to be 
enlarged speedily. How can the women of our 
Church tolerate this low class of humanity! Their 
social tastes and instincts are wholly incompatible. 
I dare say that they do not attempt sociability. They 
have gathered them in, as foreign missionaries would 
gather in a class of heathen, for a divine service, 
religious instruction, and prayer. I really would like 
to know how they will waste their precious time.” 

"How did yez loike the social this afthernoon, 
Mary?” asked Thomas Wilson of his wife as they sat 
at the supper-table about six-thirty o’clock of this 
Saturday afternoon. 

"O yes, mother, tell us about it. It has done us 
good already; fur I can’t mind the time when you 
come to the table wearin’ your best dress before 
now,” said Willie, eagerly. 

"Oi thought we moight all want to go to the con- 
cert to the church to-noight, an’ so Oi did not take 
oof me bist dress.” 

"Indade, yez do look foine at the table wid yer 
bist gown on. It sort o’ brightens us all oop, loike. 
An’ Oi wish that yez would do so ofthen ag’in,” said 
her husband. "But coom, now, an’ tell us aboot the 
afthernoon’s matin’ that yez have been at.” 


252 


As They Did It 


“Well, ye asked me jist how Oi loiked it, an’ Oi 
will tell ye. The women what invited us wor rail 
noice an’ foine. An’ the home was foine an’ jist as 
nate. An’ all that they done this afthernoon was so 
koind an’ interestin’ an’ so noice a tay, sure, that Oi 
could not but enjoy it. An’ Oi lamed manny ’s the 
thing which Oi kint tell to ye now. But there is one 
part that Oi did not loike, an’ Oi fale to resaint 
[resent] it when the roight toime cooms.” 

“An’ what was that? Tell us all aboot that sure. 
Yez moight nade us to aid yez in resaintin it when 
the toime cooms roight,” urged Wilson. 

“No, Oi shall nade none ov yer hilp, Oi kin re- 
saint it mesilf, alone. Me trooble was jist this : They 
invited soom to coom there what was oot of char- 
ac’ter with mesilf. Did ye iver haer ov the loikes? 
They asked a lady loike mesilf to coom into a social 
matin’ wid the loikes of Ned Campbell’s wife; an’ 
they all must know the bad name that she bears, 
sure.” 

“An’ did they so bad a dade as all that?” asked 
Wilson. “Indade yez must resaint so great an insult 
onto yer pure charac’ter. They must know that the 
loikes of yez must not coom iuto a social matin’ wid 
so bad a woman as Ned Campbell’s wife.” 

“An’ was not Miss Bronson an’ Miss Mills there 
to the meetin’?” asked Willie, sitting well back in his 
chair, and looking earnestly at his mother. “An’ 
war n’t many other nice Church ladies there, too ? 
An’ war n’t it held in ‘Auntie’ Sawyer’s fine home ? 
An’ did n’t she speak kind to Ned Campbell’s wife 
an’ to all the others?” 


^‘Inasmuch” 253 

'‘Yis ; it was all that way, sure ; but why do ye 
ask sich, Willie?’’ 

^‘1 was wonderin’ if them fine ladies would resent 
because some worse. ones wor’ there at the social 
meetin’. Do you think they will?” 

“No, they won’t, sure; fur it’s their own gittin’ 
oop, an’ they nade n’t a had um there if they did n’t 
want um to coom ; but they did want um, sure.” 

“Yes, an’ do n’t ye know what they want um fur?” 
continued Willie. 

“Why, yis ; jist to make a social matin’ wid um, 
sure; an’ to be made acquainted loike,” answered 
his mother. 

“But it was more ’n that they had um come fur, 
mother, I think.” 

“An’ what de ye think it was fur, then, if it wor’ 
not fur what Oi told to ye?” 

The boy hesitated a moment, and then continued : 
“Do ye mind how Dr. Dunbarr an’ Miss Bronson 
comes to our house sometimes?” 

“Yis, sure,” answered both his father and mother. 

“An’ do ye mind what they allers do when they 
come here?” 

Wilson answered : “Oi kint jist tell all that they 
do when they coom, but Oi moind that they jist 
hilp us, loike, ivery toime. An’ Oi moind that they 
aich shpake o’ Him who kin hilp more ’n all good 
payples kin hilp us. An’ they same to be loike Him — 
wantin’ to hilp.” 

“Yes,” said Willie, “an’ that ’s the way with them 
fine ladies what give the social meetin’ where ye was, 
mother; an’ they wanted to help Ned Campbell’s 


254 


As They Did It 


wife jist as bad as they wanted to help ye. An, likely, 
they thought that ye might help her some ; an' so 
they had the social meetin' to fetch ye together. Ye 
won’t resent it when they want ye to help other peo- 
ples like Miss Bronson helps, will ye, mother?” 

^‘No, not if the ladies want me to hilp loike they 
do. But coom now, we must stay to the table no 
longer, or we ’ll not reach the concert in toime.” 

'‘Tell me frankly. Miss Mills, did you derive any 
pleasure — not to mention profit — at the social gath- 
ering at the home of Mrs. Sawyer this afternoon?” 
asked Walter Milford as he, in company with Marian 
Mills, was going from her home to the lecture-room 
of the First Church of Warden. He had been re- 
quested to sing in a quartet at the entertainment to 
be given by the Church this Saturday night, and had 
complied with this request on the condition that Miss 
Mills would return with him as soon as the program 
was ended, “so that we need not remain to see the 
people take coffee,” as he stated it. 

“Really and frankly, Mr. Milford, I did have 
pleasure at the social gathering to which you refer. 
But why do you ask?” 

“I understand that those for whose benefit this 
party was given are, by far, your inferiors in every 
respect, and I can not understand how you can find 
pleasure in such society. Will you please explain?” 

“For me to explain immediately after this, your 
sweeping statement of the matter, would be to ac- 
knowledge that I am, by far, the superior of these 
friends of mine.” 


“Inasmuch” 


2SS 

I perceive my blunder and your modesty. 
Let me put it in this way, then: Miss Mills, how 
could you find pleasure in the company of Mrs. 
Thomas Wilson, Mrs. Campbell, and the like?’’ 

'^Yes, sir; now I can answer you,” said Marian, 
smiling. ''Mr. Milford, I entertained the humble 
hope of helping to do these women good. Is it not 
a pleasure to do good ? What can give us more true 
pleasure than to help somebody to a better life? 
There is a twofold pleasure in such offices as we 
tried to perform this afternoon — that of helping our 
fellow-beings and of pleasing our Master.” 

"But why need you ladies interest yourselves 
in these unfortunate beings?” 

"Mr. Milford, if the Church of Christ takes no 
interest in the welfare of such as these, what organ- 
ization will? If the servant of Christ passes by on 
the other side of these, where can we expect to find 
the Good Samaritan?” 

"Do you think that such service as you rendered 
to these this afternoon, and such as you Loyal 
Daughters are rendering from time to time, can 
please our Divine Master?” 

"Certainly I do, Mr. Milford. Did he not come 
to our world and suffer to save just such poor mor- 
tals ? Did he not point to the unfortunate of earth — 
those that were hungry, and thirsty, and sick, and in 
prison — and then say to his followers : 'Inasmuch as 
ye have done service unto one of the least of these, 
ye have done it unto me ?’ ” 

They were at the door of the lecture-room now, 
and they were thoughtful as they went in together. 


CHAPTER XVII 


Decision 

“ This is the way, walk ye in it/’ 

rHY are you more than usually thoughtful 
^ ^ to-night, Bennett ?” asked Dunbarr on a Sun- 
day night near the middle of x\pril. The two had 
returned from church together, and had sat in Dun- 
barr’s office in silence for nearly one-half hour. Dun- 
barr had seemed to be reading a magazine. Bennett 
sat apart, nearly ensconced in an easy-chair, the back 
of his head resting within his palms, while his eyes 
seemed fixed upon some far-away object. '^Some 
particular portion of the doctor’s sermon that has 
prompted your unwonted seriousness ?” Dunbarr 
continued. “If so, talk to me about it, please. I am 
not able to fix my mind on a book, but it wanders 
here and there, defying my effort to control it.” 

“W ell, yes ; some parts of the sermon have caused 
me to think more intently of a matter which has been 
before my mind for some days. You recall the place 
in the sermon where Dr. Burns remarked, “God 
sometimes requires an abrupt change in our Chris- 
tian career; and to comply with his requirements at 
such times may cross us decidedly. We may have 
chosen our vocation, have become wonted to it, have 
fallen in love with it, and have served well our fellow- 
256 


Decision 


257 


men and our God in the prosecution of it ; but our 
God, in his wisdom, now sees a different engagement, 
in the pursuit of which we can the better serve him. 
And so, his gentle word of command to us is, 'This is 
the way, walk ye in it.’ ‘We are often tempted,’ you 
remember he said, 'to disregard God’s Word at such 
times, or to plead to be excused from engaging in 
the new enterprise designated. But to do so is to 
plead to be excused from a real duty, and is to dis- 
obey God. And no one, under any circumstances, 
can disobey God with impunity.’ Now, this thought, 
that a change in our career may sometimes conduce 
to the utility of our service, has prompted my deeper 
thoughtfulness and has led me to a decision. But 
the thought of the crossing, the self-denying experi- 
ence, has figured but little in my problem ; for while 
I love the career that I have chosen, and have an- 
ticipated it with unmeasured pleasure, yet this new 
line of duty is novel and full of opportunities for 
valuable experiences as well as effective service. Be- 
sides, as I am young yet, if my life is spared, I shall 
have time left me to pursue the study and practice 
of medicine. We both have been deeply interested 
in the condition of suffering Cuba, and in the atti- 
tude of our Nation toward the cause of this stricken 
island and the haughty, treacherous relation of Spain 
to us. I am sure that our Nation understands that 
war is inevitable ; and preparations for war are being 
made as rapidly as possible. My decision in this : I 
shall enlist at the very first call for volunteers.” 

"While this fact is serious in, many of its phases, 
yet I am not surprised at your decision, Bennett. I 
should expect you to take the very course that you 

17 


258 As They Did It 

have decided upon. Neither will you be surprised 
when I tell you that when the call is given, I shall 
go as promptly and as willingly as yourself.'^ 

''But I am surprised, Doctor, that you should 
arrive at this conclusion. You are deeply intrenched 
here. You have too much to leave. There are but 
few physicians in the city who have a greater prac- 
tice than you. You are useful right here and now. 
While I am sure that you would make an excellent 
soldier, yet there are thousands of able men who 
are not so usefully employed as you; and these will 
go, and will make good soldiers too. It seems to 
me that your business and your social position in 
this city plainly say that your sphere of usefulness 
is in Warden.’' 

"You may be right, Bennett; but I am quite 
positive that you are wrong. I have been a number 
of days arriving at this conclusion ; and if war is de- 
clared, there is but one thing that will prevent my 
going as a volunteer.” 

"May I know what that one thing is?” 

"Certainly. You know how very slowly my arm 
has recovered. This is not due to the lack of sur- 
gical skill, neither is it because I have not had an 
efficient nurse; but it is due to the seriousness of 
the fracture. I can operate the joint but a trifle now, 
and, of course, the whole arm is weak. This stiffened 
joint and weak arm may throw me out; otherwise, 
my dear fellow, I am with you in an armed effort to 
free Cuba from the fangs of Spain;” and he arose 
and deliberately walked twice across the room, and 
then resumed his chair. 

"It is to be hoped,” replied Bennett, smiling. 


Decision 


259 


‘^that the accident of some weeks ago, which broke 
and dislocated that elbow of yours, will prove a 
benediction to your many friends, to your Church, 
and to this city, by incapacitating you for service as 
a volunteer/’ 

“I assure you that my disappointment will be 
great if I can not go. I will need the Christian grace 
which Dr. Burns suggested when he said, ‘It is often 
more trying to remain at our post of duty and faith- 
fully serve in a monotonous routine, while a new 
enterprise promises a rich variety and a brilliant 
career, than it is to quit the old, and, obedient unto 
the command of our great General, to march freely 
forward unto new battlefields, where untried foes are 
waiting to try our valor and to test our strength.’ ” 

“But, Doctor, your routine is not a dull monot- 
ony. You enjoy your profession, and your increas- 
ing popularity brings a pleasurable variety.” 

“Yes; I do enjoy my vocation, and I have an 
abiding interest in my patients. But I want a part 
in this el¥ort of my country, when, in the near future, 
she shall prove to the world that she is the friend 
of suffering humanity. And, too, Bennett, I want 
to go with you.” 

The days of this historic April passed rapidly ; 
days so potent with promise to the oppressed Cuban ; 
days so fraught with destiny for misguided, sin- 
blinded Spain. On the 226 . of the month, President 
McKinley issued a proclamation which called for 
125,000 volunteers. On the 25th, Congress formally 
declared that war existed between the United States 
of America and the Kingdom of Spain. A fortnight 
from the Sunday night last mentioned, our two 


26 o 


As They Did It 

young friends sat together once more in Dunbarr^s 
apartments ; and something of the much which had 
taken place within these two weeks, and which ma- 
terially affected the future of both Dunbarr and Ben- 
nett, we may gather from the following conversation. 
It was Dunbarr who spoke : 

''A few days are sufficient, often, to remove many 
uncertainties and to make certain our course. Two 
weeks ago we were positive in our decisions, but 
these decisions hinged upon a hypothetical future. 
To-night, the assumed is verified. War is declared, 
our President has called for volunteers, you are to 
go and I am to remain. Bennett, I have listened 
to not a few cutting words; but never did words 
pierce me more deeply than did those of the ex- 
amining physician when he said: ‘We have no use 
for you. That partially-stiffened elbow and that 
consequently enfeebled arm incapacitate you for mili- 
tary service.' Not that it was a surprise; but it 
robbed me of what little soldierly hope I had. How 
patriotic Dr. Burns's discourse was to-night! How 
his words augmented my crushed but unconquered 
desire ! I am sure that he desires to go, even at 
his time in life. And there will be many a poorer 
soldier than he would make, even now. If so good 
a man as he regrets the conditions that incapacitate 
him, the Lord will pardon my rebellious spirit, will 
he not? And you are to go so soon, Robert. Tues- 
day evening! Well, many months may pass before 
we shall be permitted again to talk long together. 
To-morrow the public reception will be given for 
you and the other fortunate boys of our city, and 
to-morrow night the reception for you by our Church 


Decision 


261 

and Young People’s Society of Christian Endeavor; 
and so the time will be taken. Is there anything 
particularly especial that we should say to each other 
to-night 

''Our words to each other, Dunbarr, are all par- 
ticular words ; and I have no complicated affairs to 
leave. I can couch all my 'particularly especial’ 
words in one short request : Continue to be a true 
friend of mine. That is all I ask. That, with you, 
will mean everything. I am not ignorant of the fact 
that I am leaving many valuable friends, and I could 
be very sad if I would; but I shall return to them, 
and before very long, too.. But, Doctor, a man 
seldom finds a friend to whom he becomes so at- 
tached as I am to you ; and I would have nothing 
occur to break or lessen this friendship.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Dun- 
barr resumed the conversation. 

"I have the few following requests to make of 
you, Bennett : Be as careful of yourself, in every 
particular, as the duties of a true soldier will per- 
mit. Write me as often as you can. But let this 
be my chiefest request : If you become sick, or if 
you are wounded and come into any especial emer- 
gency, send for me immediately. Send any length 
of cablegram or telegram, at my expense, and I will 
prove to you and to this Government that it will 
require more than one disabled elbow to keep me 
from you. I will come to you. I shall not chafe 
long under my forced residence in Warden. I can 
not see the wisdom of the providence which keeps 
me here ; but I shall believe in it, and shall think I 
hear a voice saying, 'This is the way, walk ye in it.’ 


262 As They Did It 

And, after a few days, I shall be able cheerfully to 
comply/’ 

The reception given the volunteers by the citi- 
zens of Warden was enthusiastically patriotic. But 
that given Bennett by his Church and Young Peo- 
ple’s Society of Christian Endeavor was peculiarly 
impressive to him. It was like the coming together 
of a large family to say a few parting words to a son 
and brother. He had been embraced in this mem- 
bership but a few weeks ; and yet the events of this 
short time had very closely united him to this So- 
ciety and Church. Dr. Burns spoke as only a pas- 
tor, who has had experience as a soldier in our 
war of the sixties, can speak. His words were those 
of a veteran father, shut in with his own dear people. 
He knew of the temptations and perils of army life, 
and he designated many of these. He had experi- 
enced the privations, and hardships, and dangers of 
camp-life, and the march, and the battlefield, and 
he spoke of these. He knew the only Source of the 
soldier-boy’s moral and spiritual safety, and he 
pointed out this Source. And then, when his ad- 
dress was concluded, he led his loyal people to a 
Throne of Grace; and, with a full heart, he sought 
the benediction of Heaven upon his Government, 
the cause that it had espoused, and upon the dear, 
young man who was so soon to go from them to 
help in a war which was to be waged for the sake 
of humanity. 

As had been anticipated, Dunbarr and Bennett 
had but little opportunity for further confidential 
conversation. Tuesday evening came all too soon. 
Patriotic sentiment and military zeal prevailed among 


Decision 


263 

the citizens of Warden. The extra train which was 
to convey the volunteers to a temporary encamp- 
ment, was due at Warden at six o’clock that even- 
ing. But it was fully one-half hour late. Hundreds 
of people had gathered at the depot, and while they 
waited the time was consumed by unimportant gen- 
eralities. Friends conversed. Politicians exchanged 
views. The bands discoursed patriotic airs. 

At length the long train, loaded with “soldier- 
boys,” pulled in ; and, as the engine took water here, 
there was ample time for the final good-byes. Dun- 
barr was one of the last to take Bennett’s hand, and 
then retired a few steps. But as he turned and 
looked toward the train again, he saw Miss Bron- 
son step to the platform of the car, on the lower 
step of which Bennett stood, and place her hand 
upon his arm. Bennett bowed his head to catch her 
words, and for several minutes she thus spoke to 
him. Then she took from beneath the folds of her 
spring wrap a small package, secured by a bow of 
light-blue ribbon, and placed it within his hand. Ben- 
nett took this, and quickly placed it within the breast- 
pocket of his waistcoat ; and then the train started, 
while still her hand was on his arm. 

Dunbarr, seeing all of this, trembled, grew pale 
and felt faint ; and he scarcely knew why. Then 
he withdrew abruptly from the crowd, and walked 
back into the city — at first slowly, but more rapidly 
as the moments passed. He walked aimlessly for 
many blocks, turning now to the left, and now to 
the right, as unwittingly as his nameless mood might 
actuate. At length, when he was in a new resident 
portion of the city — sparsely settled — he raised his 


264 


As They Did It 


eyes towards the sky; and there, quite at his left, 
he saw, for the first time this month, the new moon. 
Then, as he walked more slowly, he gave some ex- 
pression to his thought as follows : 

‘‘That ’s the idea, all sure enough ! Everything 
has gone and is going wrong with me ! I knew it 
just as well before as now I do since this token 
from yonder sky appeared to confirm my convic- 
tions. It may be some solace to inventory my ill 
fortunes. What are they? First, by that which I 
am powerless to change, I am incapable of enter- 
ing the service of my country as a volunteer. Second, 
my most intimate young friend has gone from me 
to-day. Third, by his going has been revealed to 
me the fruitless folly of my long-cherished hope, — 
Gertrude Bronson loves Robert Bennett ! With a 
meaning as significant as ever accompanied a like 
act of any ^worthy lady of ancient time, she, this very 
evening, gave him her colors ; and he, with a pur- 
pose as worthy as ever took possession of any noble 
knight, placed them near his heart. She has seemed 
to avoid me of late. I have wondered at her ret- 
icence. It is all plain to me now. She is too pure 
and nobla even to risk the possibility of awakening 
within the life of any man a love which she can 
not reciprocate. Well, I can no more wonder that 
she should love so worthy a man as Robert Bennett 
than I can rid myself of the crushing consciousness 
of the irreparable loss of a long-cherished hope. Do 
I envy him? Yes; if to envy and to love a man 
at one and the same moment were possible. And I 
did love him — I do love him ! I am bound to him 
by the sacred tie of friendship. His last and only 


Decision 


265 


request of me was, ‘Continue to be a true friend 
of mine; that is all I ask of you/ And I thought 
then that he was asking but a very small favor, and 
one so easy to grant him. It means much — su- 
premely much! Be that as it may, I will keep my 
plighted faith with him 

He had turned and was walking southward now, 
and he looked once more toward the calm spring 
sky. “Where is that new moon now?” he asked. 
“I will compel a favorable token from her.” Just 
at this moment the moon appeared from behind one 
of the few visible clouds of the night, and, from be- 
fore him, yet decidedly at his right, cast her calm 
light kindly upon him. “There !” he exclaimed, “Do 
I feel better, now that I have extorted a favorable 
omen? or should I be ashamed for having enter- 
tained, even for a moment, a capricious notion whose 
only claims upon my respect are its extreme longev- 
ity, and that it hangs upon the beautiful new moon? 
Ah! here, still higher than the virgin moon, and 
farther to my right, is the evening star. Is it a star 
of hope that heaven has hung out for me? If so, 
how cheering its rays ! How welcome its voice ! 
But the thought of heaven is a stern reproof to 
me. What have I done within the last half-hour — 
what, indeed, but to curse my lot and to complain 
against Providence ? O, my Master !” he cried, as 
he clasped his hands and looked above the evening 
star, “how weak, how rebellious, how full of sin I 
am ; and how ungrateful for all thou hast given me, 
and for all thou art to me ! Canst thou pardon such 
a rebel as I? Wilt thou take me back into favor 
with heaven once more? And wilt thou help me 


266 


As They Did It 


to be willing to labor faithfully here or anywhere 
that thou mayest direct? If so, then in this solicitude 
I renew my consecration to God and fellow-man ; and, 
as far as I know, I make this consecration complete/’ 
He remained in that attitude, silent, a moment ; and 
the cloud passed from his pale brow, and a sweet 
peace came into his troubled life, and a tear of de- 
vout gratitude stole down his cheek; and then he 
walked firmly yet thoughtfully homeward. 

When he reached his office, he found a number 
of calls awaiting him. One was urgent — a serious 
accident in a remote suburb. His horse and carriage 
were promptly ordered, and soon he sped to the 
place of suffering. And thus we lose sight of him 
foi the night. 

Although Walter Milford had, from time to time, 
severely criticized Dr. Burns, yet, secretly, he held 
him in high regard; and, as the days of his sojourn 
in Warden were passing, he was possessed of a 
strong desire to become better acquainted with the 
doctor. So, prompted by this desire, and under the 
pretext of returning the doctor’s kindly call, he vis- 
ited him one afternoon the first of May. Dr. Burns 
greeted him with unstinted cordiality, and soon they 
were mutually interested in the discussion of matters 
of a general bearing. After a few moments, how- 
ever, their conversation naturally turned to subjects 
of a religious character, and their animation in- 
creased perceptibly. 

''Have you ever known, Dr. Burns, another 
Church whose young people were so devoted as the 
young people of Warden are to their Church and 
to the cause of religion ?” 


Decision 


267 


think that I have never served another Church 
whose young people were as happily loyal as are 
our young people, and the one way really to know 
a Church is to serve as its pastor; but I trust that 
there are many such instances/’ 

''You make a fortunate use of that term 'happily 
loyal.’ It is that term, Doctor, in which, to me, 
is couched the mystery of this matter. One finds 
many young people who are nominally religious ; 
but they have no particular use for their religicai, 
other than that Church membership adds somewhat 
to their good name. Of course, they feel it in- 
cumbent upon them to attend divine service as often 
as once a week ; and this, with possibly the exception 
of a bedside prayer, comprises their religious service. 
You find them participating in all the pleasurable 
pursuits of popular and fashionable society, and you 
are not able to distinguish them from the so-called 
worldling. There are those whom we meet, how- 
ever, who feel that religion and Church membership 
require that they should conform to certain Puritanic 
rules, requiring rigid self-denial. But these are 
the solemn and long-faced Christians. Their very 
countenances indicate that they are living unnatural 
lives, against which their youthful hearts are in con- 
tinuous rebellion. But the young people of the First 
Church of Warden are known by the consistent prac- 
tices of their daily life to be Christians ; and yet 
they abound in real, practical life — happy in heart 
and cheerful in spirit. Can you explain to me. Doc- 
tor, why they are so peculiar?” 

"I think that the reason is found within the fact 
that they have a correct conception of the religion 


268 


As They Did It 


of Christ, and have willing minds to live consistently 
with their religious convictions,'' answered Dr. 
Burns, deliberately. 

‘'Well, please, Doctor, what are these views that 
are held and practiced by the young people of your 
Church, and where did they obtain them?" 

“They have obtained them, either directly or in- 
directly, from the Word of God. It would pain me 
to think that their views are not in harmony with 
God’s thought, as this thought appears in nature 
and upon the pages of the sacred Scriptures. As 
to what they are, I may not take the time now fully 
to state. Some of them may be concisely stated as 
follows : Beginning with their view of God, — they 
believe that God is King Supreme, and that they 
are subjects of his kingdom ; and, as such, they must 
have laws. These laws they can not transgress with 
impunity. They believe, that as subjects of God, 
they are made capable of knowing something of 
God and of his government, and that in wisdom and 
justice God is led to reveal himself and his laws unto 
them. They hold that the chiefest revelation of God 
is in Jesus Christ, and that he, as the Son of God, 
is the expression of the disposition of God towards 
his subjects ; that, in Christ, they come to know that 
God is not only a Sovereign, but also a loving 
Father; that, in Christ, they see the Father’s esti- 
mate of sin, and also his boundless love for the sin- 
ner. They believe that the government of God is 
so adjusted that they who obey its laws are, at the 
same time, conserving their own most vital welfare ; 
but they who willfully break one of the least of the 
laws of this kingdom, pierce their own lives through 


Decision 


269 


with many sorrows, and are justly condemned as 
rebels, and that nothing but sincere repentance can 
restore them to favor. Penitence, to our young 
people, means more than self-shame and wounded 
pride. It means, to them, deep sorrow; because 
our sin has touched the government of our King, 
and has wounded the heart of God. Again, they see 
that Christ is real, a living being — One of whom 
they may hear, of whom they may read, but, more 
than these. One with whom they may meet and come 
into personal, loving fellowship. They see in his 
life the real, the only true life for them to live ; 
and this life commends itself to them, more and 
more, as they come to know it better. At their first 
view of it they hear a voice which may seem like 
the voice of a stranger, saying, ‘This is the way, 
walk ye in it.’ But afterward this voice, to them, 
becomes the voice of their most valuable Friend, 
and it meets with a glad response from their happy 
lives. The Christian career to them, therefore, is 
a beautiful activity, which, like other manifestations 
of God’s loving thought — the vital air we breathe, 
the flowers, the birds of song — is peace on earth 
and a right good will to all mankind. In fine, Mr. 
Milford, I believe that our young people really love 
the Being whom they profess to serve ; and it is 
a law of life that service rendered to the object which 
we truly love, brings joy.” 

‘T thank you, Dr. Burns. I have more than a 
passing interest in this matter, although this inter- 
est has been but recently awakened. But I must 
go now. I have already taken too much of your 
valuable time.” 


270 


As They Did It 


Dr. Burns took his hand warmly at his depart- 
ing, and remarked : ‘‘By many words I fear that I 
have blinded instruction; but pardon the following 
from me : The Christian religion offers the oppor- 
tunity of a satisfying service which can beautifully 
employ your talent, and culture, and means/’ 

‘T thank you again, Doctor; and I have come 
to the thoughtful decision to look this practical 
phase of the subject fairly in the face.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Reaching Out 

“Light is sown for the righteous, and gladness for the upright in 
heart.” 

AMONG the much which had engaged the atten- 
tion of the First Church of Warden in the last 
of April and the first of May, was the organization 
of a branch Sunday-school at the corner of Genesee 
Avenue and East Cedar Street. A building at this 
location had been rented, and, for the last fortnight, 
mechanics had been busy rearranging its interior. 
A large room wherein the entire school could gather, 
and several smaller rooms suitable for primary and 
intermediate classes, had been provided and suffi- 
ciently furnished. 

Mrs. Stevens had said to Marian Mills : ‘‘I pre- 
sume that the branch Sunday-school will be officered 
and wholly managed by the young people of the 
Church ; and we will see what it will all amount to. 
Quite likely it will result in little more than an un- 
wise outlay of money and a stupid waste of time. 
The only possible good that I can anticipate as com- 
ing from it, is that it may unite those vulgar people 
in whom you have so recently become interested, 
and satisfy them with a religious service there, so 
that they will confine their church-going to the little 
271 


272 As They Did It 

chapel, and never come near the house of worship 
of the First Church of Warden/’ 

'‘Well, time, and possibly eternity, can only tell 
what will come of it,” answered Marian. “We have 
already had a meeting preliminary to organizing the 
school, and by that meeting it seems evident that 
the elderly portion of our Church, as well as the 
young people, are to engage themselves in that en- 
terprise. And, really, Mrs. Stevens, I do not think 
that one of us has deliberately planned to squander 
money or waste time. I sincerely hope that the 
people for whom this school is instituted will be- 
come happily united in the services to be held in 
the chapel ; but I hope that our Church will be suffi- 
ciently Christlike to throw our doors wide open to 
all of them who may wish to worship God with us.” 

“Marian, for months we have not agreed on the 
subject of religion, and I fear that we may never 
agree again. How did your preliminary meeting 
signify that the school is likely to be officered?” 

“It was the sense of that meeting that Mr. Bron- 
son should be the superintendent, Mrs. Burton sec- 
retary, and Dr. Dunbarr treasurer. Dr. Burns will 
have a general supervision of the school. But the 
organization is not to be completed until the first 
Sunday that we gather there, so that they for whom 
the school is formed may have a voice in and the 
benefit of witnessing the organization.” 

“The idea of Jerome Bronson superintending a 
Sunday-school where such degraded people are to 
be taught !” exclaimed Mrs. Stevens, and then the 
subject was dismissed. 

And thus it came about. The school was organ- 


Reaching Out 


273 


ized quite nearly as Miss Mills had foretold. She 
had a class of women, some of them much older 
than herself, one of whom was Mrs. Campbell. This 
woman, at first, had objected to coming into the 
school. She had said in answer to Marian’s en- 
treaties : '‘There are a number of reasons why I de- 
cline. I am not good enough. Some may object 
to my presence, not wishing to be associated with 
me, even in a Sunday-school. And, then, the many 
memories that such a service will awaken; the fires 
of remorse that will be quickened !” But she could 
not withstand Marian’s unyielding entreaty, and she 
came into her class. 

Dr. Dunbarr chose to teach a class of men of 
near the age of Thomas Wilson, and with attain- 
ments about equal to Wilson’s. 

Gertrude Bronson took a class of boys of near 
the age of Willie Wilson. Willie was glad to be a 
member of this class, and became very serviceable 
in securing new members. 

When the subject of classes and teachers was dis- 
cussed in his home, Wilson had said : "Oi ’m glad 
to have Dr. Dunbarr fur me tacher, good mon that 
he is ; but Oi ’d the rither have Miss Bronson, fur 
she kin make all things plain, loike. But it ’s not 
mesilf that ’ll be complainin’ so long as Oi kin have 
oor own good docthor.” And his wife replied : 

"No; Tom, sure, ye ’ll git on well, an’ oor Willie 
kin have Miss Bronson to tache him. Ye all kin ’t 
have her, Tom.” 

The school was not large at the first. The people 
were timid and indifferent. Much personal work was 
needed to secure their confidence and to awaken 
18 


274 


As They Did It 


their interest. Dr. Dunbarr’s class increased quite 
rapidly in numbers. He was well known to the 
laboring men, and had already secured their con- 
fidence, and he proved to be an interesting and ca- 
pable teacher. 

The supplies were carefully selected with the view 
of adaptation, and were paid for promptly, for the 
first quarter, out of a fund that was placed in the 
treasury before the school was fully organized; but 
it was determined by the governing Board — a body 
comprised of all the officers, two teachers, and the 
pastor — that, after the first quarter, the school should 
nearly or quite sustain itself by regular contributions 
made by its patrons. Thus this branch school was 
begun; and the people who were attracted to the 
‘dittle chapel” — as became their wont to designate 
it — were pleased with the novel enterprise, and the 
teachers and managers of the school were hopeful 
and happy. 

It was in this month of May that another depart- 
ment of religious effort was introduced and adopted 
by the First Church of Warden. It came about 
naturally, as follows : At a Sunday-school teachers’ 
meeting, which was held early in the month, one 
arose and made the following statement : ‘Tt has 
occurred to a few of us that good may be accom- 
plished by the distribution of religious literature in 
the families that are not now reached by the services 
of our Church and Sunday-schools. A great num- 
ber of tracts and other religious literature may be 
secured at small cost, and may be taken into these 
homes regularly, at but little inconvenience to our 
willing workers. The plan that has been suggested 


Reaching Out 


27s 


is, that between the hours of four and five, each 
Sunday afternoon, a few of us should go from house 
to house in different districts of the city, deal out 
our literature, and do any other brief, simple, Chris- 
tian deed that occasion may actuate. Our bicycles 
will prove efficient allies in such a mission. We may 
call this our Colporteur Department, if this under- 
taking seems to you to be feasible, and if it receives 
your approval.” 

This proposition was carefully discussed and 
heartily commended by all. 

'‘This is a step in the direction of the 'Home De- 
partment’ of the Sunday-school,” remarked Dr. 
Burns ; "and I had intended, to-night, to introduce 
this department for your consideration. It has been 
adopted by many Sunday-schools in our State, and 
is being operated with happy results. It aims to 
take the helpful influences of the Sunday-school to 
those persons who are prevented from attending it 
by illness, distance, family cares, or indifference. All 
persons who can be induced to join the 'Home Class’ 
are requested to promise to devote one-half hour 
each week to the study of the Sunday-school lesson. 
They are furnished with various helps, such as a 
form for application for membership, certificate of 
membership and the Home Department Quarterly^ 
which, in addition to the lessons, contains maps, 
charts, 'guiding questions,’ and many valuable com- 
ments and suggestions. To institute such a depart- 
ment, the field should be divided into districts and 
thoroughly canvassed so that none whom the depart- 
ment should reach may be omitted. They who are 
to carry forward this work are called 'visitors.’ 


276 


As They Did It 

These 'visitors/ as soon as the canvass is made, and 
their classes are assigned to them — each 'visitor’ may 
care for a class of from five to fifteen in number — 
should carry to each member of his class the lesson 
helps and the quarterly report envelopes, and should 
impart such instruction as will enable each member 
to begin the study of the lesson promptly. Each 
'visitor’ is expected to call upon each member of his 
class at least once every three months, and that im- 
mediately at the close of the quarter, to insure the 
prompt beginning of a new quarter’s work. Now 
I think that I can see how your 'Colporteur Depart- 
ment’ can aid a 'Home Department’ of the Sunday- 
school. For example, each member of the ‘Colpor- 
teur Department’ could know where each member of 
the home class resides, and could stop a moment 
of a Sunday afternoon and offer a word of encourage- 
ment or information. I believe our Master will bless 
such efforts to the advancement of his kingdom and 
to the salvation of souls. I advise that we add to 
our Sunday-school the 'Home Department,’ that we 
make a thorough canvass, get in perfect readiness, 
and start the enterprise at the first of the next quar- 
ter. In this work it may be well to confine our- 
selves to the territory that is locally ours. But in 
the case of the 'Colporteur Department’ this may be- 
gin at any time, and, after our own territory is per- 
fectly covered, may extend to any neglected portions 
of our city.” 

And so it came to pass. The governing board 
and the entire corps of teachers were eager to try 
these new means of usefulness. A large quantity 
of literature was ordered for distribution, a dozen 


Reaching Gut 277 

or more young men and women joined the ‘Col- 
porteur Department/ and began their work. 

“Is not God’s will often very austere and even 
tormenting to mankind?” asked Walter Milford of 
Marian Mills, one pleasant May evening. He had 
called upon her at her home, and they had gone 
down to the flower-garden to welcome the new 
flowers that had bloomed, and to anticipate the mul- 
titude that would greet them within a few weeks. 

“No, I think not, Mr. Milford. His will may 
seem severe ; but this is only seeming, I think. God’s 
will is his law ; and, as Henry Drummond has tersely 
said, ‘When God puts down his great will beside 
me, telling me to do it, he puts down just beside 
it as great a thing, his love. Where God’s law is, 
is God’s love.’ And I think that Mr. Drummond’s 
teaching, at this point, is compatible with the Scrip- 
ture which teaches that ‘God is love.’ Now, love 
can never be really austere, can it, Mr. Milford? And 
what led you to ask me about God’s will?” 

“No; I do not understand that real love can be 
really austere ; and — to answer your second ques- 
tion — I read in the New Testament to-day an en- 
treaty, by the mercy of God, that we should present 
our bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God ; 
and this, it claimed, is our reasonable service.” 

“Yes; I recall that Scripture; but why should 
that lead you to conclude that God’s will is severe?” 

“Is it not severely exacting of God to require 
of us all to exist as a living sacrifice offered unto 
him?” 

“No ; not to one whose will has been surrendered 
to God’s will, and whose perceptions have been so 


278 


As They Did It 


quickened as to enable him to see that God’s will is 
but another term for God’s love, and that God’s love 
ever and always means the very best for all his 
creatures.” 

“But how, Miss Mills, can one apprehend all 
this ?” 

“Mr. Milford, you are asking me difficult ques- 
tions, and I may not be able to answer them cor- 
rectly ; but it seems to me that, first of all, one must 
come to feel that it is supremely important to appre- 
hend the love of God; and this can not be while one 
spurns God or rebels against him. One must sub- 
missively come to God before he can have the prac- 
tical knowledge that ^God is love,’ and can experi- 
ence, uprising from the fountain of his own life, 
a reciprocal to God’s love. The human heart, un- 
aided, is not equal to this experience. Therefore our 
Savior said, 'No man can come unto me, except the 
Father which sent me draw him.’ Love only can 
interpret love. And when the Spirit quickens our 
lives to love God, then we begin properly to ap- 
preciate his love.” 

“But can not one hear of God and read of God, 
and know him by these means ?” 

“One can get some intellectual grasp of God by 
these means. But do we really come into possession 
of the true knowledge of a great man or of our 
friend by reading of him or hearing about him? 
Has not the great man or our friend an important 
personality that we know practically nothing of un- 
til we come unto him and sit down in his presence? 
It is at such a time — is it not? — that we are born 
into an entirely new relation with him.” 


Reaching Out 


279 


It was twilight. The robins vied with one an- 
other in song, affording a vesper service inimitable. 
Nature was in her happiest mood. The moment 
was an impressive one. Our two young friends 
walked slowly back to the house. Soon afterward 
Milford bade Marian good-night, and then went 
thoughtfully to the home of Mrs. Stevens. He found 
his mother alone in the drawing-room, and, after 
his usual cordial greeting, remarked: 

''Mother, I have decided not to go East with you 
and Mrs. Stevens next week.’’ 

"Why, Walter, you astonish me ! What has led 
you to that decision?” 

"I am not satisfied to leave Warden yet. I am 
curious to make a further study of some matters 
here. There are several features of Mrs. Stevens’s 
Church which interest me. Warden is a beautiful 
and healthful little city, and I shall remain here 
until extremely sultry weather shall incline me to 
come East to the mountains.” 

"But, Walter, you understand that I am unac- 
customed to travel alone ; besides, I shall be very 
lonely without you.” 

"I will go with you and see you on board of a 
through train, and provide that you shall be m*et at 
your destination by a trustworthy person, who will 
see that you and your baggage are landed safely at 
our home. You and Mrs. Stevens will be so inter- 
ested in each other and the things which are mutually 
pleasing to you that you will scarcely miss me till 
the time arrives for us to go to our summer resort. 
If you should become ill, or should really need me, 
you know that I could reach you within a few hours.” 


280 


As They Did It 


“Yet, Walter, we have never been separated long, 
not even when you were at college. It will be a new 
experience, and, to me, a sad one. It seems strange 
that you ever took such a notion.'’ 

When, just before retiring that night, Mrs. Mil- 
ford informed Mrs. Stevens of Walter’s decision 
to remain in Warden, this latter lady remarked: 

'‘Can it be possible that he is becoming infatuated 
with Marian? Well, this would not be a great won- 
der. She is well educated and bright, and I have 
understood that her parents left her quite an amount 
of wealth. She has lived with her married sister 
since her parents died. They two were the only 
children.” 

'T suppose that there should come a time when 
he should be attached to some noble woman ; but 
I dread to have that time come, and I will not enter- 
tain the thought that it is near at hand now. He 
said that he wished to make a further study of the 
religious phases of this city, and that he thinks it 
a healthful and pretty little town to sojourn in. He 
has always been studiously inclined, but matters of 
a purely social nature have engaged his thought 
heretofore. No, I will not cross him in this; but 
I shall miss him sadly.” 

'T do not see what he finds in the religion of 
Warden to interest him. I should think that that 
feature of our city would fill him with disgust and 
compel him to leave it. It surely affects me that 
way;” and Mrs. Stevens led the way to their sleeping 
apartments. 

It had been planned by the young people of the 
First Church of Warden to celebrate May-day in 


Reaching Out 


281 


a pronounced manner. The Sunday-school, Junior 
and Senior Endeavor Societies, and all others, old 
and young, who wished, were to participate in the 
celebration. The “May Queen” was to be chosen 
by ballot from the Sunday-school class that had had 
the best average attendance during the last three 
months, and had passed the best quarterly examina- 
tion, provided that such class contained one or more 
girls or young women. But in case a class of boys 
or young men should excel in average attendance 
and in the quarterly examination, that class should 
be honored with the choice of the “Queen of May.” 
The exercises were to be short, the principal parts 
being the erecting and winding of the May-pole and 
the crowning of the queen. The place was to be a 
beautiful wood-lot, just outside the city limits, bor- 
dering upon a deep valley, through which ran Cedar 
Creek. The first week of May, however, was cold 
and rainy, and it was not until the second Saturday 
of the month that a suitable day could be fixed 
upon. 

“We will not abandon the idea of our May-day 
celebration,” the superintendent of the Sunday-school 
had said, “if a suitable day can not be fixed upon 
before the very last day of the month;” and so said 
they all. 

When the test was taken, it was found that a class 
of boys averaging about fourteen years of age were 
entitled to the choice of the “May Queen and their 
choice was Georgia Cleveland, a beautiful child some 
twelve years old, and the only daughter of a poor 
though highly-respected family. 

This chosen Saturday was a perfect spring day. 


282 


As They Did It 


The azure sky was cloudless. The air was mild, 
and perfumed with the fragrance of the flowers. 
The foliage of the trees was bursting forth into rapid 
development, and thus the branches that had been 
stark so long were being beautifully clothed. The 
song-birds had nearly all returned, and were vying 
with each other in manifestations of abundant life 
and supreme delight. 

The exercises were to be at three o^clock in the 
afternoon. When this hour came, all was in readi- 
ness, and the short program was so well carried out 
as to prove pleasing to all ; but the interest naturally 
centered in the crowning of the queen and the wind- 
ing of the pole. The pole stood some thirty feet 
high, and from its top hung many ribbons, red, white, 
and blue in color. The queen was crowned with a 
beautiful chaplet of spring flowers, and placed upon 
her dainty, flower-embellished throne ; and then little 
girls dressed in white, each holding the end of one 
of these ribbons, which were attached to the top 
of the May-pole, walked around the pole, so alter- 
nating as to weave the ribbons artistically, keeping- 
step to the time of a march played by the orchestra. 
The circles which they described were at first very 
large ones ; but they gradually grew smaller as the 
ribbons grew shorter by winding, and at last the pole 
was symmetrically wound from top to bottom in red, 
white, and blue. 

When the program was concluded, the company 
divided into small groups, some of whom engaged 
in merry games, while others wandered aimlessly 
about the woodland, and gave themselves up to the 
charms of nature. 


Reaching Out 


283 


After participating heartily in a few games, Ger- 
trude Bronson and Marian Mills withdrew, and 
walked leisurely away towards the valley, each swing- 
ing a willow whip with the graceful abandon of 
school-girls. 

'‘What bird is your favorite?” asked Gertrude. 

"Why,” answered Marian, "I have, from the 
earliest of my recollection, been the ardent lover of 
the robin. He is one of the first to come in the 
spring; and he really does come to us. Quite a 
domestic bird is robin. He is in our dooryards and 
upon our doorsteps. I love his matter-of-fact ways. 
All that we have out of doors he claims and takes 
possession of — our lawns, our shade-trees, our fruit- 
trees, and, later, our fruit. But he pays for all with 
his song. O, that song of robin, — so abundant, so 
rich, so continuous ; the last song at night, if we 
except the whip-poor-will, and the first song in the 
morning, e’en in those wee, small hours, when, if 
we awake at all, it is to know that we are sleeping 
sweetly, that we are glad that we do not need to 
arise yet, and that robin is singing. And, then, he 
remains the whole season through, until all is fin- 
ished, and at last so silently steals away for his South- 
ern home that we do not know that he is departed 
until we look for him in vain. Yes, indeed! Robin 
is the bird of my choice. But which is your bird, 
Gertrude ?” 

"To answer you tfiis, Marian, is pleasurable. I, 
too, have been in love since early childhood. But 
it is not your favorite bird, although he is a very 
dear friend of mine, whose presence and song add 
much to the charms of my spring and summer time. 


284 


As They Did It 


But my bird is not such a rollicking, robust fellow 
as yours, though he is quite vigorous and decidedly 
energetic. He comes at about the same time in 
the spring, and remains nearly as late in the autumn 
as does robin. He is too modest to intrude ; but 
when he visits us it is always with an air which seems 
to say, ‘Do not be annoyed; I shall not remain long.^ 
Pretty? Why, for me, he outvies all other birds in 
symmetry of form and beauty of plumage. Color? 
The gifted poetess, Ella Gilbert Ives, has said of it : 

‘ Beautious bit of earth and air, 

With a hint of ocean.’ 

Song ? Perfectly inimitable ! This same lady has de- 
scribed his song as ‘fragmentary rapture.’ But, alas ! 
Marian, there are by far too few like him, and I fear 
that the number is growing less annually. My very 
feelings are expressed by the authoress referred to 
when she says : 

‘ Sprite, or bird, or winged love, 

Heaven itself were lonely, 

If thy far-retreating voice 
Were a memory only.’ 


Marian, can you tell now the name of my favorite 
bird ?” 

“Is it the bluebird, Gertrude?” 

“Certainly ! How well you guess ! But, hark ! 
I hear his song now. Look ! yonder he is, and his 
mate is with him. I will venture that they are build- 
ing their nest in the top of that old stump which 
leans out over the bank. Let ’s go and see.” 

Though they approached cautiously, the birds saw 


Reaching Out 285 

them and flew away while they were yet some 
rods off. 

'‘I am sure that they are building in there,” said 
Gertrude, pointing to the old stump. “It would be 
easy to ascertain, if it did not lean so far over the 
bank. But I am sure that I can peep into it ; this 
little tree will aid me.” 

She stepped upon the very brink of the bank, 
grasped the tree with her right hand, and leaned 
out over the ravine, while with her left hand she 
reached for the stump. At this the little tree gave 
way with a sharp crack — for it was decayed — and 
Marian screamed as she saw Gertrude fall several 
feet into the ravine below. 

Dunbarr had been detained in the city, and did 
not accompany the May-day party. As soon as he 
could leave town he drove to the woods, but did not 
arrive until the exercises at the May-pole had ended. 
Soon after his arrival he was joined by Walter Mil- 
ford, and they strolled leisurely about, conversing 
upon congenial topics. They had, unwittingly, wan- 
dered near the bank to which Gertrude and Marian 
had come in pursuit of the bluebird’s nest ; and Dun- 
barr was thinking how agreeable Milford was be- 
coming to him ; how, in part, he was taking Ben- 
nett’s place, and was wondering how Bennett was 
passing this beautiful spring afternoon, — when, at- 
tracted by Marianas cry of alarm, he saw Gertrude fall 
into the ravine. Instantly he rushed to the place, 
bounded recklessly into the ravine, and in a moment 
was at her side. Marian and Milford, by way of a 
bridle-path, soon joined him, and together they bent 
over Gertrude's motionless form. 


CHAPTER XIX 


Sincerity 

“Arise, and go into the city, and it shall be told thee what thou 
must do. ’ ’ 

you think that she is fatally injured, Dr. Dun- 
barr?” asked Marian, while her fair face be- 
spoke her deep solicitude'. As if aroused by Marian’s 
voice, Gertrude opened her eyes, and, in bewilder- 
ment, stared at Marian a moment. Then she per- 
ceived that Milford was near her, and she looked 
upon him with the peculiar expression of return- 
ing consciousness ; and then, evidently perplexed at 
the uncertainty of who else might be there, she 
slowly moved her gaze, as if in search. When she 
beheld Dunbarr, the’ color came quickly to her pale 
face, and she attempted to assume a sitting posture. 
Dunbarr, anticipating her desire, assisted her. Then 
she passed her hand across her brow, and remarked : 
‘^How strange it all seems! Yes; it returns to me 
now. How stupid I have been ! I must have fainted, 
silly girl that I am ! But,’' turning to Milford and 
Dunbarr, and attempting a smile as she spoke, “you 
were not here when I took my awkward tumble.” 

“Are you seriously hurt, Gertrude dear?” asked 
Marian; and her usually bright eyes were dimmed 
with tears for the moment. 

“Why, no; that is, I think that I am not. My 
286 


Sincerity 287 

right wrist is painful, and I feel weak and faint. But 
I think that I shall be able to ride my wheel home, 
after a few minutes. I am thirsty. I think that a 
drink of cold water would revive me completely.’’ 

“You had best remain quiet for a time before at- 
tempting to go home,” said Dunbarr. “Miss Mills 
and Mr. Milford may help you to a more comfortable 
place to sit or lie, while I will go for some water, 
and to my carriage for my medicine-case’.” 

He hastened to his carriage, and from a spring 
near by filled a flask with pure water, and then drove 
as near to where the young people were as was pos- 
sible. In the meantime Marian and Milford had im- 
proved Gertrude’s situation by helping her to a sit- 
ting where her back was supported by a maple-tree, 
against whose trunk she leaned. This change was 
but just accomplished, and Marian had remarked, 
“There, dear, you look far more comfortable,” when 
Dunbarr, returning, came springing down the wind- 
ing, narrow path. 

“There returns Dr. Dunbarr,” remarked Ger- 
trude. “How expeditious he is ! We could not ex- 
pect him so soon.” And as Dunbarr approached 
them he thought, “Were I an artist, I would paint 
that picture ; but I would not paint that central figure 
so pale as now she is.” Then addressing Gertrude, 
he said, cheerily, “Miss Bronson, I can afford you 
no more elegant cup than this flask ; but I assure 
you that it contains only pure water.” 

“O, thank you. Doctor ; this cup is good enough 
for me.” And then, after drinking, she said, “This 
cold water is refreshing; I am revived already.”- 

“But I notice that you use your left hand, and 


288 


As They Did It 


that your right wrist is becoming swollen. It must 
be painful/’ remarked Dunbarr. 

“Yes it is. I must have wrenched it in falling. 
Nothing worse than that, I think. But you can 
tell best about its condition, Doctor ; you are the 
physician of this tragic occasion,” answered Gertrude, 
with something of her wonted cheerfulness. 

“There is no fracture nor dislocation, only a 
sprain — probably a severe one,” said Dunbarr, after 
examining the wrist. “But it frequently happens that 
a sprain is more troublesome than a dislocation. 
Your wrist will likely demand your care for several 
days; and you will realize by to-morrow how thor- 
oughly you have been shaken by your fall. You will 
pardon me for suggesting that it is best for you to 
go to your home as soon as you feel able.” 

“I am equal to that undertaking now; but I may 
need some help to mount my wheel, for I fear that 
my wrist will be nearly useless in such an attempt.” 

“It will be better for you not to attempt wheel- 
ing home. My horse and carriage are at your serv- 
ice. Miss Mills can drive for you, and Mr. Milford 
and myself will take charge of your wheels.” 

“O no. Doctor,” said Marian; “I would rather 
not drive your horse now. I do not drive well at 
best ; and this evening I am destitute of even my 
usual confidence. I can take Gertrude’s wheel home 
while you drive for her.” 

“Yes, certainly. Dr. Dunbarr; Marian is usually 
correct and always happy in her planning. I will ride 
with you, if you will please show me such kindness.” 

Dunbarr did not trust himself to answer more 
than, “Certainly, Miss Bronson ;” for he had 


Sincerity 


289 


thought of Bennett, and had remembered that he 
had pledged to him the fairness of the fullest friend- 
ship ; and while he felt an inexplicable loneliness, yet 
he experienced a peculiar comfort in caring for Ger- 
trude, which comfort was occasioned, as he thought, 
by the fact that he was showing kindness to his dis- 
tant friend. ''I will do all I can for her, and that 
for Bennett's sake," he thought. 

When they had helped to make Gertrude comfort- 
able in Dunbarr’s carriage, Marian and Milford 
walked leisurely to the place where they had left their 
bicycles. Milford rode his own wheel, and conducted 
Miss Bronson’s by his side, as they were leaving the 
wood lot. But Marian, riding behind him, said : 
“When we are out in the highway, I will share that 
honor with you ; for I intend to have my part in get- 
ting Gertrude home safely." And so she did. As 
soon as they reached a road of sufficient width, she 
ran up to Milford’s right ; and with her left hand 
helped to guide Gertrude’s wheel. And thus to- 
gether they slowly rode after Dunbarr’s carriage, 
unwittingly, by their mutual effort, betokening in 
what direction the' lines of their future might pos- 
sibly run. 

When they arrived at the Bronson home, Dunbarr 
remarked, as he assisted Gertrude from the carriage, 
“If the domestic remedies which, doubtless, your par- 
ents will administer, do not relieve your pain, it may 
be best for you to consult your family physician." 
As they were about to part, Gertrude presented her 
right hand. Dunbarr received it, but permitted it 
to lie in his open palm, as he remarked, “Miss Bron- 
son, this is your lame wrist." 

19 


290 


As They Did It 

'‘I know it/’ answered Gertrude, quickly. 
have played a ridiculous role all this afternoon, and 
seem destined to continue it this evening. But, Dr. 
Dunbarr, I wish to thank you for all the kindness 
you have shown me, and to assure you that I appre- 
ciate it; and in our parting this evening, I do not 
wish to leave with you a continued impression of 
my impracticability, but, if you will indulge me thus, 
I wish to give you my left hand and prove to you 
that I have some nerve and vigor in it, if not in my 
right hand.” And the rich color came again to her 
face, and her voice betrayed a hidden emotion. Dun- 
barr took her left hand, and felt an evidence of that 
of which he had needed no proof, namely, that Ger- 
trude Bronson was a strong and noble woman. 

At this, Milford and Marian arrived, and the lat- 
ter called out cheerfully, 'Here we are, landed safely 
at last.” 

Gertrude earnestly thanked Milford for his 
friendly efforts in her behalf, and bade him a cor- 
dial good-night. Marian also took leave of the 
young men, and went in with Gertrude, saying, '‘I 
will go in and tell the story, and make all needed ex- 
planations.” 

She remained but a short time, and, as she was 
about to go, Gertrude asked: 

‘ "Marian, will you come in to-morrow afternoon? 
I wish one of your quiet little visits.” 

"Certainly, Gertrude. I am sure that this after- 
noon’s experiences will become, in a peculiar sense, 
more real to us when we have talked them over.” 

"I am not dead sure where matters and things, 
myself included, are drifting just now,” Milford re- 


Sincerity 


291 


marked to himself at the close of a prolonged medi- 
tation. ^‘It occurs to me that my social interests 
are not so general as formerly, but, rather, they are 
tending towards focalization. However, I am quite 
sure that I am still master of the situation, and have 
not drifted so far, but that I can speedily row to 
shore. I am an expert with oars, and shall not worry 
so long as I am in sight of land.'’ 

^‘Well,” thought Dunbarr, when, much later in 
the evening, he sat alone in his office, “the experi- 
ences of this afternoon have been peculiar. I under- 
stand myself perfectly, and while I think that I un- 
derstand Miss Bronson, yet I feel an annoying sense 
of uncertainty. Why did the color come so quickly 
to her face when she saw me in the ravine where 
she had fallen? And then, again, at the door of her 
home to-night, why was she so eager to impress me 
with the fact that she has force and strength of 
character? Is it because she understands that Ben- 
nett and I are intimate ? Likely this is the true 
explanation. Well, dear fellow, I have acted the part 
of the true friend to him this afternoon ; and I have 
been able to hide my real feelings so completely that 
even her keen eye could not detect them. To act 
in such disguise is unpleasant — not to say painful.” 

Marian kept her engagement with her friend, and 
we may not know just all their mutual confidences 
as these were expressed in the seclusion of Ger- 
trude’s room that afternoon. A few thoughts of that 
trustful interview we may claim our right to. 

“But why did your pallor pass away and your 
energies assert themselves so quickly when you real- 
ized that Dr. Dunbarr was near you ?” asked Marian. 


292 


As They Did It 

‘‘Why, I was just coming out of my ridiculous 
faint, and — and — but did I blush and arouse myself 
at seeing him?’' 

“Certainly," answered Marian, smiling at Ger- 
trude's artful evasion. 

“Marian, I believe that your intuition has already 
given you a satisfactory answer. But do you think 
that I, in the least, betrayed myself to him ?’’ 

“Likely not ; for he seemed almost as much con- 
fused as you were — probably in the very state of 
mind to misunderstand everything, even the instan- 
taneous change in the expression of your pretty 
face." 

“How do you explain his agitation ? He is usually 
so composed, even in ordeals that are very trying, 
like that one." 

“I really can not understand him, Gertrude. 
When he saw you fall, he bounded to your side with 
a recklessness which regarded neither barrier, bowl- 
der, distance, nor the safety of his own neck or 
limb." 

“But," returned Gertrude, after a moment’s si- 
lence, “of late he has been more than ever distant. 
He seldom seeks my company, and when he is in my 
presence, he is not at ease, and embraces the first 
opportunity to go elsewhere." 

They sat in silence a moment, each busy with her 
own thoughts, and then Gertrude resumed the' con- 
versation. 

“You and Mr. Milford are becoming great friends. 
You evidently have an increasing pleasure in each 
other’s society." 

“Well, yes ; but only friends, I presume. Cir- 


Sincerity 293 

ciimstances have brought us into each other’s com- 
pany often of late.” 

^'You know, Marian, that at first his haughty atti- 
tude was generally disgusting to the young people 
of our Church ; but has he not changed somewhat ?” 

''I really think that he has, Gertrude. He seems 
to be occupied with subjects of a more serious and 
practical bearing.” 

“And yet, Marian, he does not approximate your 
ideal of a man ?” 

“No. While he is an educated gentleman, yet he 
lacks a depth of character which is obtained only 
by toil and trial and sacrifice ; and while he is relig- 
ious in a sense, yet he lacks the vital knowledge that 
'God is Love,’ and that the love of God, enthroned 
within the life of man, will lead that man to a will- 
ing, consecrated, self-sacrificing service. No, Ger- 
trude, if by my ideal you mean the man to whom 
I could one day give my heart and hand, Mr. Mil- 
ford is not now that ideal. You may know when 
that is the test, my ideal is a high one. And too, 
Gertrude, a time-honored name one would not bar- 
ter for a mess of pottage. I am the only one who, 
by the right of blood, bears my father’s name. The 
man that I wed I must hold with as true a respect 
as is the honor in which I hold my father’s name.” 

“You are a dear, good, noble girl, Marian ; and 
I never could help loving you and Gertrude threw 
her arms about her neck and kissed her fondly. But 
Marian, not to be diverted from her subject, con- 
tinued : 

“Yet he may change, Gertrude. He certainly is 
capable, and I think he has never been a bad man. 


294 


As They Did It 


as moral people call bad/' And then, with a smile, 
she added : ''We will wait. I am sure that we all shall 
be pleased to see him evolve from a much-humored, 
almost spoiled boy into one of the most magnani- 
mous of men." 

"Yes, we will wait," echoed Gertrude, abstract- 
edly, and her eyes were once more fixed upon the 
landscape painting which hung upon the wall of 
her room. 

Mrs. Bronson invited Mrs. Stevens and Mrs. Mil- 
ford to take tea with her before they went East. 
This visit had something of the pensive in it. Mrs. 
Bronson was sad to have her most congenial friends 
leave the city. Mrs. Milford was pained to bid Mrs. 
Bronson farewell, and also to go from the city with- 
out her son. The condition of Mrs. Stevens’s mind 
may be, in part, determined by the following: 

"Mrs. Bronson, you and I have not realized what 
we hoped one afternoon last February, when we 
planned to invite Mrs. Milford and her son to visit 
our city. While we have enjoyed both of them 
more than we can tell, and they are in every re- 
spect our own dear friends, yet Walter has effected 
no change in the mad career of the young people 
of our Church; neither has there anything come 
about relative to him and your daughter, more than 
a mutual friendship. We are forced to recognize 
these facts. I can see that we expected too much 
from Walter. While he is truly cultured and a very 
capable young man, yet I can see now that several 
such as he could not accomplish what we desired 
him to do, unaided. Such is the blind persistency of 
bigoted fanaticism. Well, I am thankful that I am 


Sincerity 


295 


to be away for a time from all such religious irregu- 
larity. Yet I shall be anxious to know just how 
Church matters are moving, and I shall expect you 
to write me of them regularly.’' 

^^Are you to drive into the country to-day?” in- 
quired Milford of Dunbarr early one June forenoon. 

‘‘I have a patient five miles in the country to visit 
early this afternoon. But why do you ask?” 

‘'I really wish to ride out with you. I am a 
bachelor now indeed, and I am lonely. Then, too, 
I wish the pleasure of your company. I feel that a 
few hours with you will do me good.” 

It was a perfect June afternoon. Every part of 
nature seemed to vie with every other part to excel 
in the portrayal of beauty and in the expression 
of the Creator’s maturing thought. Dunbarr, for 
once, drove leisurely. There was not much sickness, 
and his restless spirit was somewhat calmed by the 
charms of early summertime; and he evidently en- 
joyed Milford, who remarked the varied phases of 
the rural scenery, and asked concerning the history 
of the farm-houses which they passed, some of which 
history Dunbarr was conversant with. 

“Will you go in with me?” Dunbarr asked, when 
they had reached the home of his patient. 

“No, thanks. I will remain outside, and will stroll 
down the hill to the creek yonder,” pointing to the 
south. 

He had returned to the carriage, and was waiting 
when Dunbarr rejoined him. 

“Who and how is your patient, may I ask?” was 
his first question on their way back to the city. 


296 


As They Did It 

“Certainly. He is a Mr. Waugh — James Waugh 
— a man about fifty. He is so completely broken 
that he can not survive long. He has been an in- 
valid for years. He understands that he can not 
recover, and is resigned; for he is a hopeful Chris- 
tian.’’ 

'‘Did you tell him that he could not recover?” 

“Yes; while I seldom express my fears, and al- 
ways evince the utmost hope and cheer with my 
patients, yet I am candid with them, and tell them 
frankly of their condition when I am convinced that 
they can not recover.” 

“But do you not often witness resignation on 
the part of those who are not Christians, when they 
must face death?” 

“Yes; a sort of stolid resignation. They have 
been strong and self-righteous in their conduct while 
in health, and they seem to take pride and some 
sort of comfort in maintaining the same attitude of 
mind when they must face’ death. But I assure you, 
Milford, that there is a wide difference between the 
resignation of a Christian and a non-Christian.” 

“But, Doctor, people do not agree as to what 
constitutes a Christian. Will you tell me what it is 
by virtue of which a man is a Christian? I do not 
ask, prompted by a spirit of controversy or of idle 
speculation, but by an honest desire to know. And 
it was a desire to have you speak with me on such 
subjects that, more than any other one thing, led 
me to seek your company this afternoon.” 

“You must know, Mr. Milford, that I am not a 
theologian. My research has been along different 
lines. Neither have I been a professed Christian 


Sincerity 297 

long; and all that I can say to you, by way of in- 
struction in this matter, will be but the expression 
of my own vague views, and these may mislead 
you/’ 

^‘1 am aware of your calling. Doctor, and am 
willing to take my chances. A man’s practical life 
operates, usually, from some fundamental ideas, 
although this same man may not have reduced these 
ideas to a tongue’s-end system. I have studied your 
conduct, together with the conduct of the young 
people of your Church, but I have never conversed 
with you upon religious subjects. I have been led 
to feel that my religion is of a different sort from 
that of the' great majority of the members of the 
First Church of Warden. I feel that, while they 
would admit that I am religious, they would hesi- 
tate to call me a Christian. It occurs to me that 
the difference may be accounted for, primarily, from 
the fact that we differ in our opinions as to what 
constitutes a Christian.” 

^‘1 understand, Mr. Milford, that you are a mem- 
ber of a Church of Christ, that you believe in Christ 
as the world’s Savior, and that you acknowledge your 
alliance with all who hold such a belief. Because of 
these facts you, I think, would be considered a Chris- 
tian by the nations and religions of the world. But 
there is in Christian lands and communities a further 
discrimination. It is held that a real Christian is 
one who has helpful, happy fellowship with Christ — 
one who, from a heart of love, does with gladness 
all things that Christ commands. And I think, Mr. 
Milford, that this last stated view is warranted by 
the practical teachings of the sacred Scriptures.” 


298 


As They Did It 

“But is it reasonable, Doctor, to believe that 
one can come into such a personal fellowship with 
Christ?’’ 

''Yes, it occurs to me so. God speaks to us — 
to our very selves — in various ways. He speaks to 
our physical selves this very afternoon. This health- 
ful air, this invigorating sunlight, the cooling water 
that we may drink, the wholesome food that we 
may eat, — all are God’s words to our physical life. 
And then God speaks, addressing our sesthetical na- 
ture. Look upon yonder farm-home scene — the 
flovv^er-garden, the meadow, the pasture sloping from 
the declining sun, the tall shade-trees, casting shad- 
ows which, at this time of the day, so gradually grow 
longer ; and over all is cast the canopy of this calm, 
azure sky. By these God speaks, addressing our 
sense of the beautiful. But man has a higher nature 
still — his chiefest, his spiritual nature. This nature 
stands aloof, in calm enjoyment, when man’s physical 
nature and sesthetical tastes are ministered unto, but 
is not satisfied by these ministrations. It seems to 
say, 'I, too, have necessities, have desires and long- 
ings, which are not met. Is there no voice for me?’ 
Is it not reasonable to believe that God will address 
himself in a satisfactory manner to this nature of 
man, which is in the image of God’s own nature? 
John, the revelator, as he gives us what he believes 
to be the words of our Savior, gives an answer to this 
inquiry: 'Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If 
any man hear my voice and open the door, I will 
come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with 
me.’ You remember, Mr. Milford, that Saul of Tar- 
sus held Christ as one holds an abstract, historical 


Sincerity 


299 


fact, until he met him and heard his voice, and in 
turn spoke to him. After this, when Saul had be- 
come the Christian Paul, he was able to say, ‘I 
have been crucified with Christ, yet I live, and yet 
no longer I, but Christ liveth in me.' For years, Mr. 
Milford, if you will pardon a personal reference, I 
willfully refused the friendly fellowship which Christ 
offered me. But five months ago I complied with 
his just demands, and thus unbolted the door and 
admitted him to my life. He is now to me a verity — 
a helpful, blessed Friend.” 

“I thank you, Dr. Dunbarr, for your considerate 
utterances. You may be assured that I shall not 
soon forget them. I remember that Saul’s implied 
word of answer to the Christ was, ‘Lord, what wilt 
thou have me to do ?’ ” 

“And remember, also,” returned Dunbarr, “that 
Christ’s word of answer was, ‘Rise and enter into 
the city, and it shall be told thee what thou must do.’ ” 


CHAPTER XX 


Light 

“The light shall shine upon thy way.’’ 

uAl rHY do ye kape from the Sunday-school two 
^ ^ days already, Tom? It ’s graved that Oi am, 
saeiid ye there not at all these two toimes.'’ 

“Why, ’t is coomin’ hot weather, an’ mon must 
have a vacation; don’t yez moind, Mary?” 

“But, Tom, ye ha’ been to the school but nigh 
aboot one month ; an’ ye hint be wary already. An’, 
too, Tom, ’tis not sooltry hot yit; an’ Church paples 
do n’t go to vacations afore ’t is sooltry hot.” 

“But then, Mary, yez must moind that Oi ’ve been 
a-worrukin’ since Oi got oop from me sick toinie, 
an’ me shtrength would not allow me to call noights 
on me auld friends ; an’ Oi ’v jest coom to that shtate 
where a mon must sae his auld friends once more 
soon. An’ what ’s left fur a busy mon to do, save 
to sae his friends on a Sunday afthernoon? An’ yez 
must know, Mary, that yer mon, Tom, kint be at 
no two places to wunst.” 

“Sure, Tom, an’ who are the friends that ye go 
to sae on the Sundays ?” 

“O, me thrue friends, Moike Patterson, moostly; 
but Moike an’ me visit a bit wid Tim McFadden. 
We’re all auld friends, yez moind; an’ it’s good, 
Mary, for auld friends to visit on Sundays.” 

300 


Light 


301 


“But, Tom, ’t is yer auld friends that lade ye 
bad. An’ the first Oi know Oi ’ll be fur haerin’ that 
ye Ve took a sip ov shtrong dhrink, jest fur friend- 
ship. An’, Tom Wilson, oor Willie an’ me will fale 
so shamed at the haerin’ ov that, we kint lift oor 
faces oop any more at all, at all !” and Mrs. Wilson 
stopped and clinched her hands together in evident 
discomfort. 

“Och, Mary ! why will yez shake hands wid troo- 
ble, half-road ? An’ it ’s graved now that Oi am, 
to think that yez will shtill belave me to be oop to 
me auld ways. When Oi ’ve braced oop so long, kint 
yez thrust me fur more toime?” 

“Yis, but ye loike the shtrong dhrink, at toimes, 
do n’t ye, Tom ?” 

“Yis, at toimes, yit Oi have that sevare thirst 
fur it ; but Oi kint git no more at all, aven if Oi ’d 
go sake it.” 

“Yis, ye could foind it, Tom ; an’ if ye could n’t by 
yersilf, yer thrue friend, Moike could foind it fur ye. 
An’ jist ye moind what Oi ’m sayin’ to ye, ye ’ll git 
soom afore very long, if ye do n’t kape well to yer 
worruk, an’ well wid yer family noights, an’ well 
to yer school o’ Sundays. Moind what Oi ’m sayin’ 
to ye, Tom. An’ afther that, how could ye look yer 
tacher in the face? An’ what could ye fale loike, whin 
the foine girl. Miss Bronson, would coom’ an’, puttin’ 
oot her hand to yez, say, ‘Good-mornin’, Mr. Wilson ; 
Oi ’m glad that yer gittin’ on so well?’ Oi say, Tom, 
what could ye fale loike, afther that ?” 

“But it ’s not coom to that yit, Mary, an’ yez 
nade n’t worry aboot it.” 

“An’ will ye go to the school on the next Sun- 


302 As They Did It 

(lay, Tom? An’ will ye thry to hade all that they ’re 
sayin’ to ye?” 

“Yis, Mary, Oi ’ll go along wid yez to the school 
on the next Sunday, unless it is so orful hot ; but 
yez nade not to think Oi kin go all the hot soomer 
through ; fur, as Oi told to yez, Oi must take me 
vacation, loike the oother matin’ paples do.” 

‘‘Och, Tom, an’ where did ye git yer notion aboot 
vacation, any way? Ye ’ve not been wid the Church 
long enough to larn sich ?” 

‘‘Now, Mary, an’ do yez think that Oi ’m simple 
afther livin’ hare by the matin’ all me born days? 
An’ if Oi wor, did n’t Tim McFadden tell it all plain 
to me? Coom on, me b’y, we must git away to oor 
worruk now.” 

And after Wilson and Willie had gone to the fac- 
tory that fine June morning, Mrs. Wilson was evi- 
dently as busy with her thoughts as with her hands ; 
for at one time she stopped while in the act of wip- 
ing a dish, and spoke audibly: “Oi kint fale sure 
aboot Tom. He says he wants to brace oop com- 
plately, an’ he ’d fale so orful bad should he dhrink 
ag’in. An’ yit he ’s longin’ to be wid the mons what ’ll 
lade him to it, sure. Why kint he long to be wid the 
matin’ folks, an’ to stay wid ’em ? Oi ’m a-faerin’ 
fur him an’ what will coom to us all, shtill.” 

The trial of Saloonist Graves for the violation 
of the law which prohibits the sale of alcoholic bev- 
erage to an habitual drunkard was long and tedious. 
His attorneys hotly contested every step of the pro- 
cedure, and the trial ended in a disagreement on the 
part of the jury. The saloon sympathizers rejoiced 
in this result, claiming a victory. The temperance 


303 


Light 

people were disappointed, yet were in no sense dis- 
couraged. They felt that their case was a just and 
a clear one, and they believed that another trial of 
it would secure the conviction of Graves. 

“The failure to convict Saloonist Graves will en- 
courage the liquor-men of our city to other deeds 
of lawlessness,” remarked Deacon Holcomb, in a 
short address before the Anti-saloon League one 
Monday night in June; “and as temperance workers 
we need to be more than ever wise, brave, and vigilant. 
I advise that the different departments of our League 
carefully review their respective duties, as these are 
stated by our Constitution and By-laws, and then 
renewedly address themselves to the faithful dis- 
charge of these duties. The right is on our side ; the 
law is, in great measure, on our side, and we also 
have some good officers of the law; and if Warden 
is not, more than in former years, a law-abiding 
city, much of the blame will lie with us. The chair- 
man of our Law-enforcement Department is with us 
to-night, and a word from him will be appreciated.” 

Dunbarr addressed the meeting, briefly stating, 
with other items of interest, some facts relative to 
the hours of opening and closing saloons. “The law 
of our State provides,” said he, “that all saloons shall 
be closed at nine o'clock at night, and remain closed 
until seven o’clock of the morning of the succeeding 
day, each week-day night. The term ‘closed’ is in- 
terpreted to apply to all back doors or other entrance, 
the same as to the front door. A proviso to this 
law, however, leaves the hours of opening and clos- 
ing of the saloons in cities and incorporated villages 
optional with the Common Council or Board of Trus- 


304 


As They Did It 


tees of such cities or villages ; but this option is re- 
stricted to a specified limit. For example, no Com- 
mon Council or Board of Trustees of any city or in- 
corporated village may provide for a later hour than 
eleven o’clock at night for closing, nor earlier than 
six o’clock in the forenoon for opening, a saloon or 
other place for the purpose of selling intoxicating 
beverage. The Common Council of our city has fixed 
the times for opening and closing of saloons at seven 
o’clock in the morning and at ten o’clock at night, 
respectively. The Law-enforcement Department of 
our League some weeks ago became aware that this 
law was being violated in our city. The attention 
of some of our policemen was called to this fact, but 
no desirable change was effected. Later we’ sought 
an interview with our mayor, and he acted promptly, 
instructing the chief of police to require strict con- 
formity to the provisions of our city ordinance relat- 
ing to the hours of opening and closing saloons. Tf 
any man on your force,’ said Mr. Cummings to the 
chief of police, ‘neglects his duty in this matter, such 
man must be reported promptly.’ Accordingly, the 
saloons are being held to time ; and they are none 
the more kindly disposed toward the Anti-saloon 
League, for they rightly trace this new action back 
to us. I am informed, also, that several officers have 
been reproved, and are liable to be impeached for 
neglect of their duty in reference to this and other 
matters.” 

Dr. Burns, as a member of the Agitation Depart- 
ment, suggested the advisability of a temperance 
mass-meeting, and he thought it should occur no 


Light 


30s 


later than on the last Sunday night of June. 'Xet 
the meeting assume the nature of a temperance en- 
tertainment in the best sense of that term. That is, 
while our principal object shall be to instruct and to 
influence the people toward temperance, yet let us 
provide that which shall merit their respect and com- 
pel their attention. Let the best musical talent of 
our city be secured for that occasion. Let the pro- 
gram contain one or two choice recitations, a sum- 
mary of current temperance events, a terse statement 
of the object, effort, and achievements of the Anti- 
saloon League in our city, three addresses (not to 
exceed fifteen minutes in length) by the most forcible 
speakers that can be obtained, and an abundance of 
music. Such an effort, occurring immediately prior 
to our National anniversary, I believe, will be worthy 
of the Anti-saloon League and the Churches of our 
city.^’ 

The doctor’s suggestions were favorably received 
and immediately acted upon. The Agitation Depart- 
ment was instructed to carry out this plan and to 
use all diligence and wisdom to make the undertaking 
a success. “The time is short,’' remarked Deacon 
Holcomb, “and you will need to be prompt and ener- 
getic in your efforts. Feel at liberty, please, to call 
upon any member of the League for aid." 

Walter Milford understood that he was fond of 
his mother, and never attempted to disguise his love 
for her; but he was more lonely without her than 
he had anticipated. He wrote her frequently, and 
awaited her missives to him with the impatience of 
a lover. One of his letters to her will be of decided 


20 


3o6 


As They Did It 

interest to us, and we may indulge ourselves in its 
perusal. It ran substantially as follows : 

Mothkr, — You remember that one of the 
reasons that I gave to you for remaining in this 
city was that I wished to make a more comprehensive 
study of the aggressive religious efforts of the First 
Church of Warden. I also remember that you, and 
Mrs. Stevens especially, were interested in the ac- 
tivities of this Church. So I am sure that each of 
you will read with special attention my letters which 
contain Church news. This Church, as you will re- 
call, has various departments, some of which are 
quite unique. That you may know something of 
what is being done in these departments, I will men- 
tion them in the order in which they were instituted, 
and will state some facts relating to the work being 
done in each. The first originated was the society 
of Loyal Daughters. The efforts of this society are 
in behalf of the homes that are socially and relig- 
iously destitute — efforts to brighten these homes by 
taking to them some of the refinement of the more 
cultured society, and to bless them with the knowl- 
edge and wholesome cheer of the gospel of Christ. 
This society has been operative about five months, 
and has not yet reached the zenith of its zeal and 
usefulness. I called upon Mrs. Sawyer the other 
day to obtain some facts regarding this society — 
for the Loyal Daughters continue to meet at her 
home — and she gave me their monthly report. 
From this report it appears that new homes are 
being added to their list each week, that the wives, 
sisters, and daughters whom they are seeking to help 


Light 


307 


are evincing a strong desire for better ways of living, 
are, in large proportion, attending regularly some 
religious meeting, and are adding appreciably to 
their own appearance and to the attractiveness of 
their homes by their neater and wiser ways. Mrs. 
Sawyer, in her way of putting things, stated what 
seems to be the truth in the matter, 'It is a glorious 
investment of time, and energy, and love.’ 

"Next in the order of organizing is the Anti- 
saloon League, and this, at present, is the only or- 
ganized temperance effort in the city, if we except 
the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union. It is 
proving itself to be an effectual organization. The 
liquor-dealers fear it and hate it. Unifying all tem- 
perance sentiment and forces in the community, ad- 
justing itself to existing circumstances, and arming 
itself with the many provisions of the law, it is a 
power before which the saloon and lawlessness in 
general must tremble. Give to any city our present 
laws, a municipal administration that is true to its 
oath of office, and a properly-officered and zealously 
operative Anti-saloon League, and three-fourths of 
the saloons must go out of business in that city. 
There are two questions in this matter which are’ of 
primary importance: First, officers that will obey 
and enforce the law ; and, second, an organized body 
with a proper comprehension of the law, and with 
courage and will to demand compliance’ to and the 
enforcement of the law. It is evident that desirable 
officers can be obtained only by virtue of an enlight- 
ened and pure-minded force at the ballot-box ; and 
the people, also, must unite to make a reform move- 
ment effectual. So, in the last analysis, the matter 


3o8 


As They Did It 

lies with the people. Everything, therefore, that is 
done to enlighten the people is an effort toward good 
and desirable citizenship. 

“Well, after this temperance organization came 
the 'Open-church Movement,' as it is called; and 
I am compelled to admit that the Church is accom- 
plishing much good by this departure from its former 
staid ways. The reading-room and the free enter- 
tainments attract many who would otherwise waste 
their time or give themselves to associations that 
would be perverting. 

“Then, there is the branch Sunday-school, held 
in the little chapel situated near the corner of Genesee 
Avenue and East Cedar Street. Each Sunday after- 
noon the brightest and best of the' First Church of 
Warden meet the poor and ignorant and otherwise 
neglected people of that part of the city, and, with 
evident pleasure and intense earnestness, teach them 
the Bible. This is a new thing under the sun to 
many of these poor people ; and any inspector must 
be obdurate indeed who would not be moved to 
admiration at witnessing a session of this school. I 
feel that it is impossible to predict what this effort 
will grow unto. The talent, zeal, and consecration 
that are now operative in that school will, I believe, 
accomplish something which shall remain in after 
years as a living reward for righteous service. 

“The last device of Mrs. Stevens's Church is two- 
fold — a home department Sunday-school class and a 
colporteur service. The former makes it possible for 
any one who can not attend a Sunday-school to study 
the same lesson that is pursued by the Sunday- 
schools through the land in a manner which is de- 


309 


Light 

cidedly pleasing and thoroughly systematized. The 
latter is an organized effort to visit many homes of 
a Sunday afternoon, taking religious literature to 
them, and seeking to awaken in the people an inter- 
est in the subject of 'religion. The Church had this 
under consideration about the time that you left the 
city, you may remember. Well, 1 have been curious 
to witness the beginning of this enterprise. So last 
Sunday afternoon I wheeled out with one of the band 
as he made his visits. I was surprised to know that 
there are so many shabby and really-degraded homes 
in Warden ; and I was pleased to note how kindly 
the young man with whom I went was received by 
the people. Many of them were expecting him. He 
asked them if they had read the tract he had left 
on the previous Sunday, and, if so, how they liked it. 
Quite a number of them had read it, and two or 
three manifested an awakened interest. He staid 
but a moment with any one of them, but in each in- 
stance he spoke some sort of religious word. When 
I returned to my room, I addressed myself some- 
thing like the following: 'Well, Walter Milford, 
rather a strange way to pass a Sunday afternoon, is 
it not? What do you think of it, any way?’ But, 
mother, I did not fully answer the latter inquiry ; 
for I had not concluded my thinking of it ; neither 
have I yet. However, there are some features of it 
which are plain enough. For example', it did that 
young man no great harm to visit those people. He 
might have spent that time in a far more question- 
able engagement. And again, his ministry may do 
those people great good ; and this is the declared 
object of the effort. 


310 


As They Did It 


‘‘In all these religious efforts of the members of 
the First Church of Warden there is one feature that 
impresses me deeply: it is the fact that all of their 
service is characterized by the spirit of positive rel- 
ish — of right royal good cheer. None of your long, 
solemn, sanctimonious faces and deep-heaved sighs — 
no, ma’am — but just the opposite adorns their con- 
duct, and their very mien seems to say, ‘We are 
about our Father’s business, and this is very pleasant 
employment.’ 

‘‘And now, mother, in closing, I will speak to 
you more directly of myself; and what I shall say I 
have not yet confided to any one else. It is of the 
unsettled condition of my mind that I wish to speak. 
The Christian religion is addressing itself to me 
differently from what it did in former years. For 
two or three months I have been making a candid 
study of it, but have not permitted you to become 
aware of this fact. I am frank to confess that this 
study was prompted by the life and practical zeal of 
the First Church of Warden. I began a logical con- 
sideration of the subject with this proposition: The 
Church exists by virtue of, and we derive our name 
as Christians from Christ. Therefore Christ, his 
character, career, and teachings, are matters to be 
most carefully considered by us. Now Christ, in 
character, was humble, earnest, unselfish, self-sacri- 
ficing, and loving. In his career he was constant, 
impartial in his treatment of mankind, devoted to the 
alleviation of suffering humanity, no matter what 
form that suffering took, no matter what cause pro- 
duced it. His teachings are such that, when they 


Light 


311 

were willingly received and faithfully followed, pro- 
duced a body of men and women who were as nearly 
like him in character and career as it is possible for 
the human to be' like the Divine ; and of this body 
the primitive Church of Christ was constituted. 
These teachings are so fundamental that they are 
really couched in principle, and are, in a sense, 
eternal. When they were introduced, they imme- 
diately opposed the wickedness of the world ; and 
they are opposed to all wickedness in this same 
world to-day. At first these teachings were revolu- 
tionary ; and they are revolutionary to-day. 

“Of late, the lives of the early followers of Christ 
have afforded me a pleasant and profitable study ; but 
none' has more truly interested me than has the life 
of St. Paul. As Saul of Tarsus, he was brilliant, 
scholarly, and popular ; but he was misguided in his 
religion, and proud and self-righteous in his heart 
and conduct. If Jesus Christ stood for the ultimate 
and eternal good of mankind, Saul of Tarsus stood 
for the woe of his race ; for his character was the 
opposite of the character of Christ ; and the revo- 
lutionary nature of the life and teachings of Christ 
were witnessed upon the life of Saul on that mem- 
orable day in which he journeyed from Jerusalem to 
Damascus. Saul need look upon Christ but one 
moment to know that his own life was all wrong, and 
that, if he would follow Christ, he must enter upon an 
entirely new career ; and that Saul did enter upon 
this new career is apparent to even the casual reader 
of history. I am convinced, also, that this changed 
life is not a thing put on as one dons a garment. 


312 


As They Did It 

but, rather, it is originated by means of a something 
that enters the very heart of man, and from that 
heart, as its throne, operates outwardly. I admire 
Saul’s culture and popularity, but I love Paul’s hunT 
ble, loving, useful life. And, mother, is it surprising 
that I have come to feel that I would by far rather 
be the trustful, devoted, serviceable Paul than to 
have all the popularity and worldly promise of Saul 
of Tarsus? 

“On meeting Jesus, Saul felt the necessity of do- 
ing something. This fact has led me to ask my- 
self, What have I done? And in searching for an 
answer, it seems that I have never rendered one serv- 
ice that Christ could accept. My religion has been 
a matter of form, prompted, in great measure, by 
selfish motives. To what part of my life can I turn 
and find an ef¥ort concerning which I can truthfully 
say. That deed is Christlike? Where have I sacri- 
ficed? Where have I gone out of my way to help 
a fellow-man to a better life? To live as I have, and 
at the same time to profess Christianity, is to prac- 
tice mockery ; and, mother, I have wearied of such 
a career. It seems childish, insipid, wicked; and I 
long for something far more worthy. 

“I fancy that I can see your troubled face now, 
and can hear you ask, AVhat do you intend to do?’ 
I can not answer definitely now ; yet I am determined 
to do some humble service, and that this service shall 
cost me something. If my Master — yes, I will phrase 
it just that way, my Master — can use me and my sur- 
plus means to help to save the creatures for whom 
he died, I am willing and ready. These convictions 
and this decision bring no gloom nor morbid fore- 


Light 


313 


bodings to my mind, but rather the opposite. While 
the dawning has been tardy and gradual, yet now I 
believe that I am in the light ; and light is conducive 
of true life, you know.’’ 

This letter was a sad surprise to Mrs. Milford 
and her friend, Mrs. Stevens. The former wept, 
silently, for a moment. The latter was silent only 
while her friend wept, and then exclaimed : “The 
absurdity of the idea ! The ridiculousness of the 
entire situation ! That such a noble man as your 
son should be roped in by that crazy Church is a 
circumstance which is intolerable. Telegraph him to 
come here immediately. Or, if this might be, to him, 
too exciting, write him by the first mail West, and 
tell him, as he values the love of his mother, to aban- 
don those revolutionizing, religious ideas, and to join 
us here immediately. 

Mrs. Milford was silent for several minutes, and 
then replied in a more composed spirit : 

“No, Emily, we must remember that Walter is 
not a child. He is quite capable of thinking for him- 
self, and he has deliberately arrived at his conclu- 
sion. We must respect his candid opinions, await 
the results, and abide the consequences.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


Perverted 


‘ ‘ The foolishness of man perverteth his way. ’ ’ 


HEM very pious and temperate folks won’t 



^ make any great sum by that big meetin’ that 
they had last night. We ’ll warm up a dish for ’em 
on the Fourth that will be too hot for ’em to relish.” 

‘'You are jest right about that, Job; I’ll lose 
my guess if we do n’t make it the liveliest time that 
this old town has known for the last quarter of a 
century. Warden will be mighty patriotic this year, 
now that the war is on, and will try to outdo herself ; 
and while she is at it, we must come in for our share 
of the profits. They ’ve cut off our revenue, watchin’ 
us so close for these last six months, and we ’ll have 
to git even some way.” 

"Did n’t they brag last night, though, over what 
they have done so fur this year? And didn’t they 
crow over what they ’re a-goin’ to do? I ’ve heerd 
tell of birds crowin’ too early. But that entertain- 
ment was a good one, even if they did put it to us 
saloonists hard. The music, and all that, was first- 
class fur the kind. I do n’t often go to temperance 
meetin’s, you know,' Bill ; but I jest took it into 
my head to attend that one because I knew that it 
would be a big one, and that in it they would jest 
lay themselves right out, tellin’ what they intend 


Perverted 


31S 


to do with us fellows ; and I jest thought that I 
could n’t afford to take such a meetin’ second-handed. 
And I am not sorry that I went to it ; for, aside from 
bearin’ what they think of us fellows and what they 
propose to do with us if we do n’t keep the law, I 
heerd the good advice that they give to the fellows 
who spend their money over our bars. And I tell 
you. Bill, if the poor fools that heerd it won’t mind 
that advice and stay away from our places of busi- 
ness, then there ’s no harm in our sellin’ to ’em ; 
for they come to us with their eyes wide open. And 
if they will have it any way, we might as well git their 
money as to let somebody else git it fur beer and 
whisky.” 

‘^Yes; you’re right. Job; and we will go in fur 
a big day on the Fourth. If we had got our man 
fur mayor last ’lection, instid of that man Cummings, 
we could help the town out right smart in its cele- 
bration, and have it all right fur ourselves. But it 
would be worse than a fool caper fur us to go to 
Cummings and say to him, 'If you ’ll let us keep wide 
open all day, we ’ll each come down with a handsome 
fifty to help the town to celebrate ;’ fur he would say : 
'No sir. My oath of office binds me, as mayor, to 
require strict conformity to the law ; and I shall keep 
my oath.’ And then, his eyes would be wider open 
than ever, and he would hound us fellows all day 
long. No. But it was shrewd in us each to give a 
little to help to celebrate and never to mention our 
business. Now the thing fur us to do is to open 
up and sell early and late, but to do it as sly as ever 
we can. I intend to. They will likely ketch us at 
it before night; and if they do, we can jest cash up 


3i6 


As They Did It 


fur our fine and will then have some profit left, I 
reckon. But if I do n’t make a cent, I 'll feel well 
paid, jest fur the spite I ’ll git onto the Anti-saloon 
folks.” 

^‘But if we all have to pay a fine, where will the 
spite come in, Bill?” 

'‘Why, when we see that they have got a clear 
case ag’in’ us, we will jest walk up and pay our fine 
without a whimper, as much as to say, 'Certainly, 
your honor, we can afford to do it.’ They ’ll not put 
on the fine very heavy. They ’ll likely let us off with 
about twenty-five dollars and costs ; and the cost 
will be only a trifle. But I have an idear that we 
can work it so sharp that it will not be easy fur ’em 
to ketch us at it. We need not use our bars, but can 
rig up our side or back rooms, and stock them with 
'soft drinks,’ you know. Then we can git holt of 
an old buildin’ or two on a back street, and there 
we can supply all the old boys that might be called, 
by them temperance cranks, habitual drunkards, with 
bottles. For my part. Job, I ’m mighty glad the 
idear ever entered the head of Warden to celebrate 
on this cornin’ Fourth. I ’m in fur it, and with all 
of my might.” 

The above conversation occurred on the next 
Monday morning after the temperance mass-meet- 
ing which was held under the auspices of the Anti- 
saloon League and Churches of Warden. From it 
the attitude of the saloons of Warden towards this 
recent temperance entertainment is apparent; and 
we also learn something of the plan which they are 
deciding upon for the coming Fourth of July. 

Warden, usually demonstrative in her patriotism. 


Perverted 


317 


was more than ever patriotic at this time, sharing, 
in decided measure, the enthusiasm which was so 
general with the American people — an enthusiasm 
kindled by the fact that our great Nation had es- 
poused the cause of a weak and oppressed people, 
and was now, by force of arms, seeking to free this 
people from the oppression of tyrants. 

^‘Oi Ve had a thing oopon me moind fur a long 
toime, b'ys, an’ to-noight Oi ’ll tell it to ye ; but, 
moind, ye must kape whist aboot it, fur it ’s not 
mesilf that will be thinkin’ long oopon any wan thing 
unless there ’s soomthing in it that ’s worth the 
while, b’ys.” 

The above was addressed by Tim McFadden to 
his two friends, Mike Patterson and Tom Wilson. 
They had met, on the last Monday night of June, 
in a lumber-yard which was located on the north 
side of East Cedar Street, several blocks west from 
Wilson’s home. They were sitting on a pile of lum- 
ber in a secluded corner at the time. 

‘‘That ’s roight, Tim ; aise your moind shpadily 
to us. Ye kin be sure that ye kin trust us wid yer 
most hidden sacret. Tom an’ me are the friends 
that will niver desave ye or skwale onto ye.” 

“Yis, Tim ; it ’s the truth that Moike is tellin’ to 
yez aboot oor friendship,” echoed Tom Wilson. 

“Faix, b’ys, Oi know, sure, that Oi kin trust ye, 
else Oi ’d not begin to tell it to ye. Oi ’ve thought 
ov ye all the toime along wid me plan. Oi ’ve said, 
‘There ’s me true friends Tom and Moike, what ’s 
worrukin’ hard aich day ov their wary loife ; an’ what 
kin Oi do to aise them oop a bit?’ An’ then Oi 
thought ov me plan, oot ov kindness to ye.” 


3i8 


As They Did It 


what is your plan, Tim?’’ interrupted Wil- 
son. ‘'We re ager to haer it.” 

“Well, then,” continued McFadden, “ye know 
that the Fourth is coomin’ roight soon now, an’ that 
a moighty big crowd ov payples will be in the town, 
wid mooch a-goin’ on all the day an’ noight.” 

“Yis, we know oboot that, Tim ; but niver ye 
moind oboot the Fourth, jist now, but shpake ov the 
koindness to us which yer plan has into it,” urged 
Mike. 

“Well, but, Moike, me plan has the Fourth in it 
as well as me koindness to ye ; an’ how then kin Oi 
shpake farther ov me plan an’ mention the Fourth 
no more at all?” 

“Ah, Moike! Let him shpake on his own way; 
niver moind if he mentions the Fourth a bit as he 
passes,” remarked Tom. 

“Yis; an’ that is the sinsable way to look at it, 
Tom, an’ now Oi ’ll shtate me plan shlow, loike, as 
quick as iver Oi kin. As Oi war sayin’, the Fourth 
will soon be hare wid the crowd ov payples an’ 
goin’s on be the day an’ be the noight. Well, then, 
ye know that manny ov the payples will have an 
orful thirst on the hot Fourth, what cold water nor 
sich loike kint satisfy ; an’ they ’ll be lookin’ aboot 
fur soom whisky or soom noice, cool baer. An’ we 
kint blame them a bit, fur we ’ve longed fur it oor- 
silves afore now, whin the day war dhry an’ hot. 
Well, now, the thirsty payples kint git, handy, the 
dhrink they want, else they would n’t be a-lookin’ 
around fur it. Now, Tom hare, has got a roight 
few dollars saved oop what he has worruked hard 
fur — enough to buy manny ’s the bottle ov baer an’ 


Perverted 


319 


a bit ov whisky to sell on the hot Fourth. An’ he 
kin make it back to himsilf the dooble. Why, b’ys, 
he kin make more on that wan Fourth than he kin 
by worrukin’ hard a long wary wake at the Iron 
Worruks.” 

‘^But where could we sell it, Tim?” 

^'Oi ’ll look to that part, sure. Oi ’ll fix a shtand 
on soom corner shtrate. Not a roight public place, 
but soom corner jist back a bit, where the b’ys an’ 
the thirsty payples kin foind us. Oi kint put mooch 
mooney into it — wish Oi could, fur it will pay big — 
but Oi ’ll fix oop the shtand, an’ kin take a bit ov 
the profits fur me pay. But Tom will git the lump 
ov the profits, because he furnishes the capital. An’, 
Moike, ye kin hilp aboot at differunt toimes, an’ we 
kin pay ye more ’n ye kin arn on yer shoe-bench.” 

“But Oi ’ve got a roight bit ov mooney mesilf, 
Tim; an’ if ye kin use it to make the dooble ov it, 
Oi ’ve the moind to put it in wid Tom’s.” 

“Well now, Moike, it ’s fur bether than Oi could 
ha’ hoped ! What ye kin put in wid Tom’s will make 
a foine shtand, well supplied wid dhrinks. An’ if ye 
will, Moike, ye may share the same as Tom, an’ ye 
kin pay me the twiced as mooch as afore fur doin’ 
so large a business fur ye. Oi told to ye that Oi 
thought ov ye both in me' koind plans,” was Tim’s 
animated response. 

“But that would not be kapin’ the law, would it, 
Tim? An’ if they should ketch us a-breakin’ the law, 
they ’d make it sorry fur us.” 

“Och now, Tom ! do n’t fale tender towards the 
masily law that won’t let a poor man sell again what 
he buys wid his own mooney. An’ niver ye faer 


320 


As They Did It 

bein' ketched at it. They 'll all be too busy a-hur- 
rahin' fur Dewey an' Manilly aven to think that poor 
Tom Wilson an' his two friends could iver be able 
to sell anything so shtrong as baer an' whisky. Jist 
ye lave that all wid me ; an' whin any ov the parlice 
coom around or any ov the temperance folks, Oi 'll 
jist have nothin' at all but soft dhrinks to sell." 

“Ah, yis, Tom, it will be safe, sure, to lave that 
part all to Tim ; an' ye naid n't to worry aboot it," 
added Mike. 

“Well then, b’ys, Oi 'll do as yez say. Whativer 
mooney Moike puts down, Oi 'll put down as mooch 
beside it, if Oi kin ; an’ Tim may do the oother parts 
o' it. But moind, Tim, yez must be as whist as a cat 
aboot it. Oi 'll be fur goin’ home, now ; fur Oi 've 
shtaid oot too long already." 

“Faix, now, Tom, 3^e 're takin’ the roight view 
ov it. An' haer is me good-noight hand to ye, an' 
to shtand by ye in the Fourth-ov-July business. An' 
do ye give us yer hand on it, Tom?" 

“Yis, Moike, I do, sure; an' Tom Wilson will 
shtand to what he gives yez his hand on. But, b’ys, 
Oi do n’t fale jist claer aboot it, soom way. Oi jist 
fale as if Oi haerd soomthin' a-sayin', ‘Tom Wilson, 
yez ought n’t niver to do it.' But Oi 've said Oi 
would, an' Oi will ; or else Oi ’d bhrake me word to 
yez." And the three shook hands and separated for 
the night. 

To the truly American patriot — the' one who re- 
veres our National history, which has been written 
by the spirit of devotion and self-sacrifice in lines of 
sweat and honest toil and of tears and blood, the 
one who is fully in sympathy with our American in- 


Perverted 


321 


stitutions and principles and policy — the National 
anniversary, which is celebrated upon the fourth day 
of July, is a period which is observed in the spirit 
of veneration and cheerful thankfulness. The day 
to him is of a character too significant of the sacred 
to be prostituted to that which is sensual and grovel- 
ing. This day, which, for nearly one and a fourth 
centuries, has annually afforded the American people 
an opportunity to make a public and formal demon- 
stration of patriotism, was, in the year 1898, robed 
in a unique garment and furnished with an argu- 
ment whose logic was as unanswerable as it was 
gratifying to the American patriot. America had, 
for generations, declared a belief in the equal and 
inalienable rights of mankind and in the brotherhood 
of the race ; but she had, early in that year of grace, 
with her invincible ships of war and armed forces, 
gone out from her domain, not prompted by greed 
or the spirit of revenge, but for the sake of suffering 
humanity, had made practical her confession of faith 
by an unselfish effort — an effort which involved un- 
told sufferings and an immeasurable burden — to alle- 
viate the sufferings of brother-man. This humane 
uprising of our Nation consummated the reuniting 
of the American people. If there had remained a 
well-defined North and a distinct South ; if there had 
remained a semblance of that line whose sad office 
was to divide this great Nation politically, these sec- 
tions were’ entirely merged and this line was forever 
obliterated, when, by the wisdom of the National Ad- 
ministration, men from the South shared equally with 
men from the North the positions of honor and re- 
sponsibility which were created by the Spanish- Amer- 
21 


322 


As They Did It 


ican war ; and when he and the sons of him who had 
worn the gray walked shoulder to shoulder with him 
and the sons of him who had worn the blue in a war- 
fare which was being waged, not between brother 
and brother, and that on homeland soil, as in the 
’6o's, but to deliver an ignorant and helpless people 
from the galling yoke of tyranny. 

Warden had apprehended the significance of this 
particular ^^Fourth,’’ and her citizens, with commend- 
able unanimity, had made ample preparations for a 
creditable celebration. Mayor Cummings had in- 
structed the chief of police to use more than ordinary 
diligence to preserve order in the city. The Com- 
mittee on Street Parade and the marshal of the day 
had been advised to discountenance all proposed fea- 
tures which pandered to vulgarity. Much discretion 
had been used in selecting for the occasion an orator 
who was honorable and profound, as well as bril- 
liant and eloquent. The oration was to be given early 
in the afternoon. But at one o’clock a message from 
the National Capital was bulletined in Warden, con- 
veying the thrilling intelligence that on the third 
of July Admiral Sampson, off Santiago, had met and 
destroyed the entire Spanish fleet, commanded by 
Cervera, killing many Spaniards, and securing about 
thirteen hundred prisoners, Admiral Cervera in- 
cluded. 

This news spread rapidly, and soon the city was 
wild with patriotic enthusiasm ; and it was much later 
than the appointed time before the crowd could be 
quieted at the speaker's stand to listen to the orator. 
His effort was a masterly one ; his teaching was in 
accord with a truly American spirit ; the occasion 


Perverted 


323 


did not lack inspiration ; but the effect of the oration 
may not have been so deep nor lasting as it would 
have been had not the victorious echo of Admiral 
Sampson’s awful guns from far-off Santiago sounded 
so loudly in their ears. 

The city was thronged, and it was nearly sunset 
before the crowd began to disperse. Those who 
would have gone to their homes earlier, lingered as 
if vaguely expectant. There truly was much that 
focalized the attention and interests of the better 
class of citizens ; and the policemen were somewhat 
diverted from their natural routine. But late in the 
afternoon it became evident that there were many 
drunken people in the city ; and in the early evening 
the officers were kept busy to maintain an endurable 
degree of order. Many arrests were made, and, at 
one time, quite a police force was required to dis- 
perse a drunken and disorderly crowd. A prompt 
effort was ordered by the mayor to detect the places 
where liquor was being obtained; but a large num- 
ber of the police did not act promptly in executing 
the mayor’s orders. This may have been due to 
selfish reasons. Those who were faithful to orders 
found reasons for believing that not a few of the 
“stands” were selling, strong drinks, and many of 
the saloons of the city were “wide open” and liberally 
patronized. It also became evident that third-rate 
drugstores were taking advantage of the occasion, 
and were selling liquor unlawfully. These places 
were carefully noted, and on the following morning 
complaints were filed against their proprietors. 

During the forepart of the day and up to two 
o’clock in the afternoon, Tim McFadden and his two 


324 


As They Did It 


silent partners had been very discreet at their stand. 
But when the wave of extra enthusiasm swept over 
the city, and the attention of the better class of citi- 
zens centered at those places where they could learn 
the most concerning our great naval victory, the 
firm of Tim McFadden & Co. seemed to lose all 
caution ; and several times Mike Patterson and Tom 
Wilson were obliged to smuggle in supplies from the 
rear of a neighboring saloon to replenish their stock. 
The fact that their stand was considerably secluded 
enabled them to escape detection. At one time a 
policeman was passing near just as several intoxi- 
cated men became disorderly before their counter; 
and Tim called to him : ‘Tt 's glad that Oi am that 
ye have coom this way ! Why do n’t ye coom 
ofthener? Me quiet is sore disturbed whilst Oi ’m 
pacefully sellin’ soom candies an’ oringes an’ lemon- 
ade an’ pop-baer. If ye ’ll make these drunken fools 
to move on oot ov me way, Oi ’ll thrate ye wid a big 
glass of cold lemonade.” 

The drunken parties had ''moved on” before Tim 
had finished speaking, and the policeman, evidently 
intent upon some matter of a graver import, gave but 
little heed to Tim’s words. 

Mike Patterson, having his appetite somewhat 
under control, seldom drank himself thoroughly in- 
toxicated. A few drinks usually brought his mind 
into a tranquil condition; and when this state was 
reached he was content to go his way to perform 
his set tasks in a perfunctory manner. And so was 
it to-day with him. 

Tom Wilson fought bravely his growing thirst 
until the early afternoon; and then, somewhat weary 


Perverted 


32s 


and much excited, he yielded to the temptation to 
‘'take one shmall glass, jist to chirk oop me laggin’ 
shpirits,’’ as he phrased it to Tim. Tim did not ob- 
ject seriously, only urging, “It ’s too airly in the day, 
Tom, fur ye to begin. We must kape oor heads 
claer fur the big bulk ov business that ’ll be coomin’ 
to us soon.’' And then he muttered to himself, “It ’s 
roight willin’ that Oi am to have him sound dhrunk 
at the toime we ’re to quit an to count oop the profits ; 
but if he begins now, Oi faer he ’ll coom to be a hafty 
burden onto me hands afore the noight has full 
coom.” 

Therefore he watched Tom and controlled him 
fairly well for an hour or two. But he had had a 
taste now, and the demon awoke within him, and ere 
very long had once more the complete mastery of 
Tom Wilson. In the late afternoon he became worse 
than useless at the “stand;” and McFadden instructed 
Patterson to go with him a block or two, and order 
him to go directly home to escape arrest for drunken- 
ness. As we would expect, Tom did not go directly 
home; but walked about aimlessly, or skulked here 
and there amid the crowds on different streets. Once 
he met one of his old friends, as he termed him, who, 
from his bottle, gave him another drink. 

At a little before eight o’clock, just as the fire- 
works were beginning, a strong team, attached to a 
heavy wagon, became frightened and unmanageable, 
and came running at full speed down Main Street. 
They had run several blocks, and were now approach- 
ing Genesee Street just at the time that Tom Wilson 
was attempting to cross from the south to the north 
side of Main Street. In his intoxicated condition he 


326 


As They Did It 


moved but slowly. He heard the approaching team, 
but was too bewildered to put forth an effort to save 
himself, and was struck by the breast of one of the 
powerful horses, was knocked senseless to the 
ground, and the heavy wagon passed over his pros- 
trate form. They thought him dead at first, but, 
later, perceived that he was alive. The strangers 
who carried his limp body from the street were about 
to send him to a physician’s office, when some one 
recognized him, gave the direction of his home, and 
advised that he be taken there. An ambulance was 
not available, and an expressman kindly offered to 
convey him home. 

When her husband was brought to her door, Mrs. 
Wilson was at first overcome with fear and grief. 
When she could speak she asked, 'Ts me poor mon 
dead, entoirely?” 

On being assured that he was alive she ex- 
claimed : “Ah, but he ’s nare aboot dead, by the look 
ov him, an’ may be it would be bether if he war ; but 
Oi ’m glad that he ’s not ! Oi ’ve been a faerin’ fur 
him all the day long; an’ Oi war sure that soomthin’ 
orful war agoin’ to happen.” 

Willie, who had been employed this afternoon by 
a proprietor of a feed-barn to run errands for him 
and to aid about the barn, came in just as the men 
were placing his father upon the lounge. He looked 
upon him but an instant, and then rushed out of the 
house exclaiming as he went, “I ’m goin’ fur Dr. 
Dunbarr.” 

“He is very badly bruised and I am sure one leg 
is broken,” remarked one of the men as he bent over 


Perverted 


327 


Wilson at the lounge. Mrs. Wilson was kneeling at 
her husband’s side, seemingly speechless. But the 
words of the man aroused her, and she exclaimed : 
''Me poor Tom ! It ’s a hard lot that he ’s a havin’ 
all of his loife. An’ it ’s no aisy lot that he ’s 
a-bringin’ to me an’ the childern, all ov their born 
days.” 

At this, Wilson groaned and opened his eyes, 
staring wildly. He was given a few spoonfuls of 
water, and this helped to revive him. 

"Kin ye shpake a word or two to me, Tom, jist 
to tell us aboot it?” pleaded Mrs. Wilson. 

"Oi do n’t keer to shpake,” replied Tom, after a 
few moments. 

Willie did not find Dunbarr at his office. He had 
been busy all the day and until eight o’clock at night, 
alternating between his office and the crowded 
streets. The day had been long and excessively 
warm. He was weary, and he felt that to walk in 
the night-air, alone, on some less populous street, 
would be a delightful change. He had not walked 
far, however, when he met Walter Milford, Marian 
Mills, and Gertrude Bronson. 

"Well, Doctor, is this a business or a pleasure 
trip that you are taking?” asked Milford, extending 
his hand in greeting as he continued, "I am very glad 
to meet you, whatever may be the object of your 
coming forth.” 

Dunbarr lifted his hat in greeting to the young 
ladies, and took Milford’s proflered hand warmly, 
as he replied : "I have chosen no definite destination, 
Mr. Milford, my chief object being to get away from 


As They Did It 


328 

business for a little time, and to enjoy this cooler 
air. I am happy to have met you and our friends,’’ 
bowing to Marian and Gertrude. 

have heard that he who walks at random 
brings up at nowhere,” remarked Marian, with one 
of her roguish smiles ; “and it may not be safe for 
even Dr. Dunbarr to be so aimless. You had better 
go with us. We are going up to Gertrude’s home to 
witness the fireworks from a distance. I like them 
better so.” 

“Yes; please do. Dr. Dunbarr,” requested Miss 
Bronson. “You will be quite free from the noise of 
the wStreets, and it will be cool at our home.” 

They had sat but a few minutes on the lawn at 
the Bronson home, when Willie Wilson, almost out 
of breath, came up the walk and asked for Mr. Bron- 
son. He had sought in vain for Dunbarr, and he 
naturally turned next to his employer for help. Dun- 
barr recognized the boy, and asked, “Can I be of 
any aid to you, Willie ?” 

Hearing his voice, the boy almost flew to Dun- 
barr and exclaimed : “O, Dr. Dunbarr, I did not 
know that you was there! We want you at our 
home to see me father. He is hurt very bad, an’ 
may die.” 

Dunbarr bade his friends a hasty good-night, say- 
ing: “I am sorry to leave you, as I must now, for a 
definite destination which is all too sad.” 

The young people were busy with their own 
thoughts a moment, and then Gertrude remarked: 
“Evil still lives, and, asserting itself positively in our 
city, has perverted this day of National rejoicing. 


Perverted 


329 


Poor Mr. Wilson! I wonder if he has taken liquor 
to-day. Many have. I have seen several under the 
influence of liquor this afternoon. While we rejoice 
because the yoke of tyranny is broken from off the 
necks of slaves on a distant island, the power of 
tyrants is felt and the clanking of captives’ chains 
is heard right here in our own dear city.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


“I Must Do Something” 

“ I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear; but now mine 
eye seeth thee.” 

'T^UNBARR found Wilson in a pitiable condition. 
^ His body was severely bruised in several places, 
and both bones of his right leg were broken, about 
midway between the knee and ankle-joint. He was 
sufficiently sober to sense his pain and to compre- 
hend, in part, his sad situation. He had no word 
of greeting for his physician, but looked upon him 
with a sullen stolidness. Dunbarr made the exami- 
nation in silence, while his face bore a stern expres- 
sion, with here and there a suggestion of hopeless- 
ness. Early in the year, when he was beginning to 
experience the reforming and rectifying power of 
the Christ within his own life, he had set his heart 
on the reformation of this man, and, in the beautiful 
inexperience of an effort that has yet to sustain de- 
feat, hope had been strong within him. Rut now, 
after several weeks of abstinence, Wilson had yielded 
to temptation, and the result was disastrous ; and the 
feeling which now possessed the young doctor was 
that of mingled sorrow, and pity, and disappointment, 
and semi-despair. But he gave himself to a skillful 
reduction of the fractures, and, after an hour had 
passed, had made Wilson comparatively comfortable. 
He then gave Mrs. Wilson and her neighbor, who 
330 


“I Must Do Something” 


331 


had kindly offered to spend the night with the family, 
what directions were necessary for the care of the 
injured man, promised to come in early the next 
morning, and bade the family good-night. 

Willie, who had helped in moving his father from 
the lounge to the bed, and then had aided the doctor 
while he placed the bandages, left the room a few 
minutes in advance of Dr. Dunbarr ; and the doctor 
had taken but a step or two from the door when the 
boy addressed him : 

^'Dr. Dunbarr, you have n’t much hope left fur 
me father, have you?” 

“I am quite sure your father will recover from 
his recent injuries. I have seen many recover who 
were injured worse than he. But it will be a trial for 
him to lie in bed so long as he must, now that the 
weather is so hot ; and very likely he can not resume 
work again before the latter part of next September.” 

“But I did n’t think jest about that alone when 
I asked you. You ’ve hoped so strong fur me father 
all the while back ; but to-night you did n’t speak a 
word of hope, an’ I could n’t see a bit of it on your 
face while you was doin’ up his leg an’ doctorin’ the 
bruised places on him ; an’ I felt that I could n’t let 
you go home till you spoke some little word of hope 
to me.” 

“I understand you now, my boy,” and Dunbarr 
stepped nearer him, and put his hand upon his shoul- 
der. “However hopeless I may have looked and 
acted, I have no intention to cease my efforts to 
bring about your father’s reformation. When such a 
habit becomes so firmly fixed as it is with your father, 
it is very difficult to overcome. But such habits have 


332 


As They Did It 


been broken, and what has been may be again; so 
we will rally our hope and renew our efforts to free 
him from the power of this great curse. We will have 
your father quite within our power for a number of 
weeks to come, and this fact may turn to our advan- 
tage. We will shake hands now, and will feel more 
cheerful as we say good-night.’' 

'‘But, Doctor, there is one more thing that I want 
to speak of to you,” replied the boy as he slowly 
extended his hand to meet the one proffered by Dun- 
barr. "Me father had quite a bit of money yisterday ; 
but to-night, when we took off his clothes, I could n’t 
find any in his pockets, an’ I fear he ’s lost it all.” 

"How much money do you think that he had?” 
asked Dunbarr. 

"Some more ’n twenty-five dollars. Me an’ 
mother has said to him that we would use what 
money we earned to take care of the family, an’ that 
father could save his money to see what a nice bit 
he was earnin’; we thought that it might encourage 
him, like. An’ I think it did; fur when he paid you 
some mor ’n a month ago, he was so proud and 
happy, like. An’ then he saved ag’in an’ felt so strong, 
like. But now I fear it is all gone, only the pay fur 
last week, what Mr. Bronson is to pay the hands 
to-morrow mornin’, ’cause to-day was a holiday, an’ 
so he did n’t pay this Monday night.” 

"Well, when you are sure that his money is lost, 
we will endeavor to find it ; but it is more than likely 
that we shall fail, for much has been worse than 
thrown away to-day, and an intoxicated man seldom 
knows how fast or where his money is going. Ques- 
tion your father and learn from him all you can con- 


‘‘I Must Do Something’’ 


333 


cerning his money. I will see you to-morrow noon 
when you are home from the Iron Works. A good- 
night now, and do not worry.” 

The night was cooler now, and Dunbarr walked 
leisurely, and it must be admitted, pensively, home- 
ward. And just before he reached his office he spoke 
audibly : “A man must be weak indeed when his con- 
duct is such that a child can detect his hopelessness ; 
but the fact is, I have set my heart on the reforma- 
tion of that man, Thomas Wilson ; and while I feel 
that I can not abandon this object as a hopeless one, 
yet I am almost compelled to feel that I must. Yet, 
under the canopy of this starlit sky, I once more vow 
that if there is power in the combined effort of man 
and God to save Wilson, he shall be saved;” and he 
uncovered his head, looked reverently toward heaven 
for a moment, and then went deliberately into his 
office. 

At noon on the following day Willie informed 
Dunbarr that about all the answer that he could get 
from his father concerning the money was that he 
wished to see Tim McFadden. ^'He won’t talk to me 
about his money,” said the boy. ^‘He ’ll jest look at 
me an’ say, Tf you see Tim McFadden, jest tell him 
that Tom Wilson must see him soon now.’ An’ I 
said, 'What fur, father?’ An’ he said that I need 
never to mind what fur, but jest tell him that he must 
come to see him soon.” 

"That is but a slight clew, if one at all,” answered 
Dunbarr; "but it may aid us. I will see McFadden 
if I can find him.” 

He did not find him, but he did obtain an interview 
with Mike Patterson. He was led to do so by one 


334 


As They Did It 


who had informed him that Patterson had been asso- 
ciated with McFadden on the Fourth. By virtue of 
a series of skillfully put questions and by taking 
advantage of Mike’s cowardice, he learned something 
of their mutual enterprise of the day before, and that 
McFadden had used Wilson’s money. 

“Now, sir,” said Dunbarr, as he was about to 
leave Patterson, “it will be best for you to see your 
friend McFadden and tell him that if he does not see 
Wilson and make this money matter right before to- 
morrow evening, you and he will be arrested 
promptly. You have confessed to me that you were 
a partner in that enterprise, and we shall seek to hold 
you as one of the responsible parties ; and I surmise 
that if this matter comes into court, there will be 
some developments that will be damaging to you.” 

As a result of this meeting with Patterson, Mc- 
Fadden visited Wilson late that very night. To re- 
hearse their entire interview would be more amusing 
than profitable. It will be sufficient for us to know 
the conclusion : 

“What Oi pay back to ye must fall soom foive 
dollars short ov the mooney Oi took from ye, Tom ; 
an’ Oi ’ll tell ye fur why. Oor shtand did not turn 
oot as well as what we hoped, an’ then ye went an’ 
got drunk an’ left all the hool worruk fur me to 
attend to mesilf.” 

“But yez said to me, Tim, that me mooney would 
arn me the dooble,” was Wilson’s feeble reply. 

“Yis, but, Tom, that was the place where me own 
judgment was lackin’ to me ; an’ ye would n’t take 
the advantage of a friend what is lackin’ in judgment, 
would ye, Tom?” 


“1 Must Do Something” 


335 


‘'Oi ’m too wake an’ sick to blarney long wid yez, 
Tim. Kape back the foive dollars if yez will; but Oi 
shtill think that yez are not fair to me.” 

“But, Tom, ye must give your word to me that 
ye ’ll be so well satisfied wid what Oi gives ye that 
ye ’ll say no more about the mooney to any parson 
at all, but jist kape the mather all to yersilf. Kin ye 
give me yer word to that, Tom?” 

“Yis, Tim, fur if Oi moost, Oi moost ; but Oi ’ll 
have me own mind aboot the mather, an’ whin Oi ’m 
well ag’in, Oi may jist shpake oot to yez aboot it.” 

“Och, Tom ! shtop takin’ the mather so to yer 
heart. Haer is the mooney short the foive dollars ; 
an’ sae that ye make a good use ov it. It ’s glad that 
ye may be that ye ’re gittin’ back so mooch ; fur if 
yer friend, Tim McFadden, had n’t kept it fur ye, ye 
moight ha’ lost the hool ov it. An’ now a good- 
noight to ye, Tom ;” and he paid him the money and 
left the house. 

The lawlessness of the liquor-dealers on the 
Fourth of July thoroughly aroused the temperance 
people of Warden. Mayor Cummings and the chief 
of police were positive in their efforts to bring all 
offenders to justice. Two or three policemen were 
arraigned for insubordination, and a number of 
saloonists and two druggists were arrested — the 
former for selling liquor on a legal holiday, and the 
latter for selling liquor to be used as a beverage. 
The experience of the last six months had taught the 
people of Warden that the liquor laws of the State 
were enacted for a purpose, and that they can be en- 
forced. 

“The fact that evil has so recently broken forth 


336 


As They Did It 


anew, and that our statutes have been so utterly 
disregarded, affords us no reason for folding our 
hands and sitting down in mute despair,’' said Dr. 
Burns in a spirited address which he gave in the 
Tuesday night meeting, July the fifth; “but, rather, 
reasons now abound for the renewal of our vigilance. 
The temperance citizens of Warden now have the 
opportunity to show of what fiber they are made. 
Civil law never has enforced itself, and never will; 
but that our laws can be enforced has been demon- 
strated times without number; and what has been 
done in this respect can be done and must be done 
again, and much better and more extensively.” 

The saloonists who were arrested did, without 
exception, waive examination in the justice court, 
and promptly furnished bonds to appear for trial at 
the September term of the Circuit Court. But one 
of the druggists, to test the strength of the prosecu- 
tion, stood for examination in the justice court. On 
the day of the examination, however, it soon became 
apparent that the prosecution had ample evidence 
against the defendant to hold him for trial as charged. 
The second druggist waived examination, and bound 
himself to appear for trial in the fall term of the 
court. And so the violations of the liquor laws 
occurring in Warden on the Fourth of July were 
temporarily settled. 

There was a new voice heard in the Thursday 
night meeting held by the First Church of Warden 
on the seventh of July; and while it spoke in the lan- 
guage of culture, its tone was that of humility and 
its manner that of modest hesitancy. It was the 


“I Must Do Something” 337 

voice of Walter Milford, and he spoke substantially 
as follows: 

take the liberty, which your kindly and oft- 
repeated invitation affords me, to bear a humble part 
in this your beautiful service. And I do this, not 
with the hope of adding interest to the occasion, but 
to be true to myself and to the Heavenly Father by 
placing myself on record as one who has de- 
termined to be a humble servant of the Christ. For 
years I have ignorantly worshiped God, if such may 
be called worship ; for I have been self-righteous and 
proud, and in many, many ways so unlike our Savior. 
But for the few months just passed I have made a 
careful and, of late, prayerful study of the Christian 
religion. I am now convinced that I have followed a 
mistaken theory. My mistaken views and my proud 
life have held Christ, with the countless charms of 
his blessed life, far from me. As I have come to 
realize this, I have longed for a change in my re- 
ligious experience, and have felt a willingness to pay 
the price for this change, whatever this price may 
be. And while I have waited trustfully for light to 
come, light has come. An indescribable agency has 
been operative within the center of my life, and I 
have felt humbly to will the will of God; and I have 
then remembered the Scripture which says, ^It is 
God which worketh in you, both to will and to work 
for his good pleasure.’ And so it seems to me that 
my part in the matter is not a ‘price’ I have to pay; 
but what is required of me becomes my pleasure, and 
may become my permanent joy. All this has been 
a wonderful revelation to me ; and I have given some 


22 


338 


As They Did It 

expression to my glad surprise in the words of a 
prince of olden time, ‘I have heard of thee by the 
hearing of the ear; but now mine eye seeth thee/ 
While I am strongly convinced that I have some- 
thing to do, I have a correspondingly strong desire 
to do that something; in fact, my new-found life ex- 
claims, I must do something ! And while I feel my 
inefficiency, yet I do not doubt that He who has 
led me to will, is also able to help me to work for his 
good pleasure. Let me gratefully acknowledge my 
indebtedness to the Scriptural teaching of the pulpit, 
and to the consistent practices of the young people 
of the First Church of Warden; for these have been 
a means to awaken my interest toward my new- 
found religious knowledge and joy.’’ 

It may be said that Walter Milford had grown 
much in the favor of the young people of Warden 
in the last two months. They had noticed, with silent 
and grateful pleasure, the change that he was under- 
going ; and they were not, therefore, greatly surprised 
at the position taken by him on this Thursday night. 
Neither was Dr. Burns. His quick spiritual discern- 
ment had noticed all with joy; and he had said to 
himself, ‘Xet young Milford alone for a time, and 
he ’ll come out a star of the first magnitude.” And 
when he greeted Milford after the meeting was dis- 
missed, his eye and his handclasp conveyed to the 
young man the deep pleasure and satisfaction of the 
doctor’s heart. 

‘'Will you be at leisure. Dr. Burns, after six 
o’clock to-morrow evening; and if so, may I have an 
hour of your valuable time?” asked Milford as they 
were leaving the lecture-room. 


“I Must Do Something” 


339 


'‘Yes, sir; for aught of any engagement that I 
have now; and I shall be very pleased to share an 
hour or more with you/’ 

At a few minutes after six on Friday evening, 
Milford called upon Dr. Burns and suggested a walk. 
"The wind is coming coolly from the northwest, and 
the evening is so calm that it will be decidedly pleas- 
ant out of doors,” suggested Milford. The idea was 
pleasing to Dr. Burns, and they walked leisurely in 
the direction of the intersection of Genesee Avenue 
and East Cedar Street — a direction proposed by Mil- 
ford. 

"Let us sit on the steps of the chapel a few min- 
utes, Dr. Burns,” remarked Milford, when they had 
arrived at that place. "There are a few things in 
particular of which I wish now to speak.” 

"Certainly,” returned Dr. Burns; "the 'little 
chapel’ is becoming a center of attraction in this 
part of our city; and I shall be pleased to look out 
upon life with you from this point of observation.” 

"It is from this very point that I wish to view 
life this evening. Doctor; and permit me to begin by 
asking you a few questions. Do you think that the 
work begun here by the people of your Church prom- 
ises permanency?” 

"Facts warrant that view of the matter, Mr. Mil- 
ford. Many people of this locality have become in- 
terested in the enterprise, and of the number are 
some of the well-to-do, worldly class, who have never 
before shown an interest in matters of religion. The 
mass of the laboring people are delighted to have 
such a service in their neighborhood, and we are put 
to straits for room already. Then, again, this is the 


340 


As They Did It 


only enterprise of the kind in the eastern part of our 
city. The field for religious activities has been the 
central portion of the city. I find also, in this local- 
ity, quite a number who have had, in other days and 
places, a Church membership, or some active con- 
nection with Christian work. These would make 
useful members, if we should organize a Church here ; 
and I feel that such an organization must be effected 
in the near future. This district has been sadly neg- 
lected, and that too long.'’ 

‘T have been apprised of some of these facts 
which you have mentioned. Dr. Burns. I believe 
that this will be a permanent enterprise. I have 
noticed that the chapel is too small fittingly to ac- 
commodate the people who have already been at- 
tracted to your services ; and when cold weather 
comes — the time when rMigious endeavors are usu- 
ally most flourishing — this house will be unfit for a 
meeting-place, unless it is thoroughly repaired. I 
have a plan which I will submit for your approval or 
disapproval. The lot on this opposite corner can 
be purchased cheaply, and, facing the south and west 
as it does, it would be a suitable site for a church 
edifice, would it not?” 

“Yes, sir; Mr. Milford, a beautiful location.” 

“Well, then. Doctor, if the project wins your ap- 
proval, and if I am favored with life and my usual 
health, I will be ready on the fifteenth day of October 
to deed a modest, modern, and sufficiently ample 
church edifice to a Board of Trustees of an incorpo- 
rated religious society that you may have organized 
on or before that time.” 

“Mr. Milford, your project certainly has my ap- 


“I Must Do Something” 341 

proval, and shall have my co-operation ; but this mat- 
ter is a perfect surprise to me.” 

'‘Very well, let it become such a surprise to others. 
It will be our secret as long as we can keep it so. 
I will seek an architect as soon as I get a deed for 
the lot. You will counsel with me, please, from time 
to time, with reference to the general form and fea- 
tures of the building and its particular apartments. 
I shall not take a vacation this summer; in fact, I 
have had, it seems, nothing but a prolonged vacation 
since I left college three years ago. I will remain 
right here and superintend this work, if one can 
superintend a work of which he has no practical 
knowledge.’’ 

They were walking homeward now, and it would 
have been difficult to determine which face was hand- 
somer — that of Dr. Burns, expressive of deep and 
varied experiences, a thoroughly-disciplined spirit, 
a mature religious character, and a profound admira- 
tion for his young companion, or that of Walter Mil- 
ford, portraying the happy condition of a life whose 
energies are bent on the execution of a noble and 
newly-formed purpose. At their parting. Dr. Burns 
remarked : 

“Many features of this project are very pleasing 
to me ; and not the least among them is that we shall 
be brought more frequently into each other’s com- 
pany.” 

“Gertrude, as I was passing Dr. Dunbarr’s office 
a moment ago, he stepped out and hastily informed 
me that he had just received a message from Robert 
Bennett’s chaplain, stating that Bennett had been 


342 


As They Did It 


wounded and was also sick of fever, and that, while 
they hoped for the best, he might not recover; and 
Dunbarr stated that he intended to take the eleven 
o’clock express for the South. He also said that he 
regretted that he could not find time to call upon 
you to get what message you might desire to send to 
Bennett.” 

The above remark was made in Mr. Bronson’s 
office at the Iron Works. Gertrude had become, 
indeed, a partner of her father, an associate in his 
labor. Since the hot weather began she had spent 
a portion of each forenoon in the office, inspecting 
the books and attending to business detail; thus af- 
fording her father considerable respite from busi- 
ness routine, which, at this period of the year, 
amounts to enervating drudgery. She was standing 
at the office-desk when her father informed her of 
Bennett’s sickness and Dunbarr’s intention to go to 
him immediately. Her reply was the following series 
of exclamations and questions : 

‘D papa! Why need Dr. Dunbarr go so soon? 
Why may he not wait till the evening express ? Can 
it not be so managed that I can meet him before his 
departure? I feel that I must do something, and 
there is so little time ! Would it be unpardonably 
rude for me to see him at the depot? I would re- 
quest Marian to accompany me ; but she is out of the 
city to-day.” 

Then she bethought herself, and half regretted 
that she had betrayed her feelings, even to her father. 

He stood at her side, placed his hand caressingly 
on her arm, and said in a calm tone, while a smile 


“I Must Do Something” 343 

of sympathy and truest love played upon his kindly 
face : 

‘‘Be composed, daughter. It will not be rude for 
you to meet him at the depot, inasmuch as he, 
through me, expressed a desire to see you before 
he leaves our city. Shall I order a carriage? It is 
now ten-forty.” 

“No, thank you, papa. I can wheel there in a 
few minutes. I will start now, if you will permit.” 

She stepped to the mirror, rearranged the bright 
red flowers which she wore in her hair, donned her 
hat and gloves, kissed her father, and was away. 
She reached the depot just as the carriages were ar- 
riving from the hotels, and saw Dunbarr alight from 
one. He also saw Gertrude, stepped to her side, and 
said : “Excuse me until I secure my ticket and check 
my baggage; and then, please, I must see you a 
moment.” 

When he returned he led the way to a seat near 
the door and asked: “What word can I take to Mr. 
Bennett for you, Miss Bronson?” 

“There are many things which I would like to 
say, but there is too little time. Tell him that he 
must get well and come home. Tell him that all 
our young people and our pastor will pray for him. 
Tell him that we trust him to your care and the care 
of our common Lord and Master. There ! your train 
is coming ! I wish that I had had time to write some- 
thing. But, Dr. Dunbarr, take the best of care of 
yourself. Venture nothing that duty does not require. 
I — we fear that you may take the fever. Write us, 
please. Take this ; it has been toyed with, but it is 


344 


As They Did It 


all I have with me and she handed him a plain card 
with a knot of blue ribbon attached to one corner; 
the card bore the words, ''Ge:rtrude: I. Bronson, 
Warden/’ 

''Is this all you have to send to Robert?” asked 
Dunbarr. 

"Yes. This card is for you. Do not say 'good- 
bye;’ that seems to mean so long. We ’ll say 'good- 
morning.’ You will return soon. May our Master 
keep you and give you strength to bring Mr. Ben- 
nett home in safety!” 

And as they took each other by the hand in part- 
ing, their eyes betrayed, each to the other, some- 
thing which would not have been intrusted to their 
lips ; and yet that something was so clothed in mys- 
tery to them that, in after days, they longed to know 
with certainty its full import. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


“I Can Wait” 

“ But thou shalt understand hereafter.’^ 

ERTRUDE tarried a moment to receive Dun- 
barr’s farewell courtesy from the platform of 
one of the coaches of the swiftly departing express, 
and then turned away thinking, “I will not gaze after 
him while he is passing completely out of sight ;” 
and then she mounted her wheel and rode toward 
the central part of the city — at first rapidly, but later 
more slowly. When she reached a street which led 
down to the park, she took that direction, thinking, 
'‘I wish to be alone a few minutes and question my- 
self, before I go back to papa.” Then she rode very 
slowly, and she thought : “It all came so suddenly 
upon me. I wonder if I have acted inconsistently. 
While he must have perceived that I did not possess 
my wonted composure, yet I do not think that I be- 
trayed my real feeling. Should he never return, I 
may wish that I had been even more frank with him. 
Strange, is it not ? This beautiful city, teeming with 
human life, the place of my birth, the home of my 
many friends and of my dear parents, is now, to me, 
a very lonely place. It seems that the affairs of life 
are strangely, if not unfairly, adjusted. It certainly 
is no deadly sin for a woman to love^'a noble man 
345 


346 


As They Did It 


more than she loves all the world beside, and yet the 
usages of society and her own instincts lead her to 
hide her love as if it were a crime — doom her to a 
silence which may be long, which may be eternal. 
Ah! what is that I hear?” and she dismounted and 
stood beside her wheel in silence. ^‘Yes, I see him 
on the outer end of that dead limb in that maple 
yonder. That shrill, yet sweet, trilling, inimitable 
song! It is quite unusual for Mr. Bluebird even to 
visit our park. He must have grown weary in his 
journey, this warm morning, and stopped to rest a 
bit ; and while he rests, he sings — sings that song 
which says a thousand things, and all for me for me ! 
A good omen, this — if omens there are. 

‘ Ah, sweet bird ! I know not why, 

But my heart seems turning 
Heavenward, when thou art nigh, 

With a fonder yearning.’ 


There, he flies ! He resumes his journey now, after 
this little rest, and he sings as he departs. l am bet- 
ter now. I will go back to papa — hoping as well as 
loving. Harmon — I mean Dr. Dunbarr — will return 
before very long, and, I believe, will bring Mr. Ben- 
nett with him. I can wait.” 

Her way led her to pass Dr. Dunbarr’s office. 
The window-shades were drawn, and a placard on 
the closed door read, ^‘Call at the office of Dr. 
Beach.” 

^'Yes, I see,” she thought, ‘‘this was a part of his 
hurried preparation, to leave the care of his patients 
to our dear old doctor. I hope that it will not prove 
too much for his failing strength.” 


“I Can Wait” 


347 


As she entered the office of her father, he, looking 
up from his work, remarked with a smile : “Here you 
are, returned in safety, having been gone a little less 
than one hour. I presumed that you would go home 
rather than return to the office this forenoon; but I 
perceive that I am to have the pleasure of your com- 
pany home ; and it is nearly time to go now.'’ 

“Yes, papa," replied Gertrude, as she looked 
searchingly, but in vain, into her father's kindly eyes 
for even the merest suggestion of disapproval ; “I 
wanted to come back to you. Your partner has 
played you truant this forenoon ; but, in time, she 
may redeem herself." 

“My partner has been a busy little girl this fore- 
noon, and I have not a word of fault to find with 
her." 

“Thank you, papa. You are very lenient with 
your partner. There go the whistles ! It is high 
noon." 

The afternoon which followed was a long one to 
Gertrude. She rested for an hour or more ; then read 
aloud to her mother from one of that lady’s favorite 
authors ; then spent some little time in the flower- 
garden. While in this latter place she thought : “It 
is becoming cooler now, and I wish to go out some- 
where. I do wish that Marian were here ! I know 
what I will do : I will take a choice bouquet to 
‘Auntie' Sawyer. She has an abundance of flowers, 
I know ; but she is not able to get out often, and she 
always appreciates so highly a bouquet from me." 

. Mrs. Sawyer's general and motherly interest led 
her to speak of many of the young people of Warden, 
including Robert Bennett and Dr. Dunbarr. She 


348 


As They Did It 


had not heard of the former's sickness, and did not 
know that Dunbarr had left the city; therefore she 
was much interested in the little that Gertrude could 
tell her of them. 

“They ah two noble young men. We need them 
heah in Wahden. I think that ouah Mastah can use 
them to his glory in this world. We will trust them 
to his loving care. It will be pleasant to speak of 
them to the Lord when we pray,” — were some of 
her many remarks concerning them. 

It was early yet, when Gertrude ended her call 
upon Mrs. Sawyer, and she thought : ‘T do not wish 
to go home now. I will call upon Mr. and Mrs. 
Wilson. I have not seen him since he was hurt, and 
more than a week has passed since then.” 

Mrs. Wilson greeted her with undisguised pleas- 
ure. After a few minutes of conversation with Ger- 
trude, she went to her husband’s bed and asked him 
if he wished to see Miss Bronson; but he did not. 

''Tell her that it was koind in her to call to larn 
aboot me shtate, but Oi kint sae no such a body as 
her fur a roight long toime yit. Tell her that Oi 
moight at a wake from this toime look onto her face, 
if she would call then. But Oi kint now, no how.” 

"Would ye keer. Miss, if ye do n’t sae Tom tor- 
day? He says as how he kint sae ye now. An’ it ’s 
not oot ov any disloike that he ’s took ov ye, but 
because ov the dape sinse of respect that he has to 
ye. He ’s all overcoom wid his shame an’ sorrow fur 
his past sinful doin’s ; an’ that, afther ye ’ve been so 
koind in yer good tachin’ ov him. Jist plaze let it 
worruk onto him, Miss, fur it moight do him good 
so. An’ when ye cooms in a wake from now — jist 


“I Can Wait” 


349 


as he fixes the toime — then he ’ll expect to sae ye, 
an’ he will ; an’ then a word from ye will do him good. 
Then he fales so oot ov heart, loike, now, because 
he ’s heerd that oor own koind Dr. Dunbarr has gone 
clane to the South of the war to hilp his true friend, 
Mr. Bennett, who is sick ; an’ that a new docthor 
must tend on him now. ’T is a sad day fur Tom, 
Miss.” 

'T will come at the time he has appointed. Tell 
your husband that I have as great an interest in him 
as I ever had;” and after a few words of encourage- 
ment she left Mrs. Wilson, and reached her father’s 
office in time to accompany him home. 

On the following Wednesday afternoon, Walter 
Milford called upon Dr. Burns to inform him that 
he had secured a deed for the land where the new 
church property was to be located, and to submit sev- 
eral designs for a building. ‘T have spent some time 
with an architect since last Friday, and have secured 
these plans ; and now I wish your opinion of them.” 

'‘My first question is,” remarked Dr. Burns, after 
he had carefully inspected the designs, “which one 
is most pleasing to you, Mr. Milford? You were the 
first to move in this matter of erecting a building to 
accommodate our branch work, and your pleasure 
should be consulted.” 

“My pleasure. Dr. Burns, shall be in that which 
shall conduce to the greatest good of the cause ; but 
I have a choice, and I am frank to state it. I prefer 
this design which will afford us seven apartments 
above the ground, including the vestibule, — the 
largest one for the audience-room proper; three 
smaller rooms to aid us to accommodate our Sun- 


350 


As They Did It 


day-school, with two of them so situated as to be 
conveniently thrown in the audience-room, should 
it ever become necessary to enlarge that room; and 
two other apartments, adjoining each other, with one 
much the larger, to be used for purposes which we 
will disclose later in the history of the building.” 

‘^But the cost of such a building, Mr. Milford, will 
be so much greater than any other one of the de- 
signs.” 

''Certainly, Dr. Burns ; but we should not be de- 
prived of such a building as we need and can make 
a good use of, simply because it is to cost us a few 
more hundred dollars, when these few hundred dol- 
lars are available.” 

"Your course in this matter, Mr. Milford, has led 
me to infer that you intend to donate a church edifice 
to this part of our city. Am I right in my con- 
clusion ?” 

"That is my intention. And why not? Others 
have been giving to me all of my life, while I have 
expended thousands of dollars for luxuries for myself. 
It is late for me to begin to give to the Lord’s poor ; 
but nothing now can afford me so much pleasure as 
to put into the treasury of the Lord my surplus 
means.” 

"This is a delightful generosity,” answered the 
doctor; "but I have been thinking about this matter 
since you introduced it last Friday evening, and I 
will suggest my conclusion by asking a question : 
Do you think that it will be best for the religious wel- 
fare of the people, who are to share the pleasure and 
profit of this new edifice, to receive it wholly as a 
gift?” 


“I Can Wait” 


351 


“Really, this question has never occurred to me,” 
answered Milford. “I shall be pleased to listen to 
your views of the matter.” 

“As a rule, Mr. Milford, people prize more highly 
that object which costs them something. People 
feel a deeper interest in that enterprise where they 
have invested their money. Man feels a sort of genu- 
ine nobility when he can say, ‘I have a purchased 
part in that matter.’ ” 

“I see the principle. It is reasonable. What will 
you suggest ?” replied Milford. 

“This course has occurred to me : When the work 
has begun so as to attract the attention of the people, 
we can display a carefully drawn design of the build- 
ing and tell them, approximately, what its cost will 
be, when we wish to dedicate it, and that we want 
^ and intend to have all bills provided for on the day 
of dedication, and that we wish every one, who is in- 
terested in the enterprise, to invest in it as many 
dollars as he is able to do. Then we can suggest that, 
in order to do this, each one should begin to save his 
money now, for that purpose ; and we can, in in- 
stances where it seems fitting, furnish substantial 
receptacles to contain their savings until we dedicate. 
With many of the people of this locality, who have 
not formed the habit of saving their earnings, this 
device will aid our purpose.” 

“Dr. Burns, this way of managing, as well as 
the principle involved, receive my approval ; and I 
wish you to conduct this feature of the enterprise as 
your judgment may dictate. You will understand 
that I will promptly meet all deficits.” 

“Very well, Mr. Milford. I think that many, if 


352 


As They Did It 


not all, of the people of this part of the city will be 
pleased to aid in constructing this building. An- 
other matter I wish to speak of. Dr. Dunbarr is out 
of town, and may be absent for several weeks. This 
leaves his Sunday-school class without a teacher, and 
I had wondered if you would not supply it for a time. 
It may not be a very inspiring class, only as one sees 
their great need -of religious instruction and their 
eagerness to secure such instruction.” 

^‘This class and the beautiful adaptation of its 
teacher to it, have awakened my interest, as I have 
visited the school from time to time. But, Dr. Burns, 
I never taught a class in Sunday-school; and, if I 
had, I could not fill Dr. Dunbarr’s place, however 
willing I might be to do so.” 

'‘One does not know what he can do until he has 
tried. If you feel an interest in these needy people, 
and if you have a desire to help them, I shall not 
doubt your success in acting as the teacher of that 
class. Do not try to fill Dunbarr’s place, but feel 
that you have a place there, and just endeavor to fill 
your own place. In other words, go at it naturally 
and in a way that you may adapt yourself to them. 
You have a knowledge of the Scriptures, and, of late, 
you have entertained some very practical views of 
religion. These facts will aid you in teaching. Dr. 
Dunbarr, in a note which he sent me the morning 
that he left the city, wished me to secure you to sup- 
ply his class.” 

“Did Dunbarr do that? Well, then, I will give 
the matter a careful consideration, and will report 
my conclusion ; and if I conclude negatively, it will 
not be because I am too proud to teach those people. 


“I Can Wait” 


353 


Not long ago, however, I was too proud to associate 
with such people; but now. Doctor, that fact is in 
my past career — a weak, if not a shameful past.’' 

In the twilight of this charming Wednesday even- 
ing, Milford gave himself to an aimless stroll. He 
said to himself : '‘This is an evening too beautiful to 
remain within doors, and I ’ll walk awhile, just no- 
where. And while I ramble, I ’ll submit to any 
wholesome mood which may address me.” 

After a half hour, he began to weary of soli- 
tude, and concluded to call upon Marian Mills. She 
sat at her piano, and was singing as he approached 
the house. And he thought, “I will not disturb her 
now, but will sit in this rustic chair on the lawn, and 
wait until she has finished.” She was singing, “I like 
to sing the old songs,” a simple song that she loved 
to sing sometimes, when she was half pensive and felt 
quite sure^that she had no audience. She never con- 
sidered herself a success as a solo singer, and yet it 
is just to say of her that people loved to hear her 
sing; for they were convinced that Marian Mills 
thought and felt while she sang ; and she did so with 
such intensity that she compelled others to think and 
feel also. Milford, this evening, yielded quickly to 
the control of her thoughtful spirit as she sang : 

“I like to sing the old songs of happy days long past. 

They seem to lift the darkness that time o’er them had cast ; 
They bring to memory brightly the loved ones we regret, 

I like to sing their old songs, and fancy they live yet.” 


She played a prolonged interlude before singing 
the last verse, and as she did so, Milford noticed 
that she was looking away from her piano, upon two 

23 


354 


As They Did It 


large portraits, one at her right and one at her left, 
hanging upon the wall before her. Then she sang : 

“I like to sing the old songs, in fancy they restore 

The dear, familiar faces, now gone for evermore ; 

And though a gushing tear may start in thinking of the past, 

I still will sing the old songs as long as life may last.” 

She sat in silence and with bowed head a moment. 
Then she arose and came toward the door. Milford 
arose and said, as he approached, “Good evening, 
Miss Mills; are you alone?’' 

“Not now, Mr. Milford ; but I was a moment ago.” 

“I thought so,” answered Milford, rather ab- 
stractedly. 

“And why did you think so, Mr. Milford?” 

“You sang as if you were alone, and yet not 
alone.” 

“I am not sure that I understand you. And how 
do you know about the way I sang? Were you lis- 
tening? Will you come in, or do you prefer to sit 
out here on the veranda?” 

“Let ’s sit out here, please. Yes, I was listening; 
not intending to get your song unfairly, but I was 
unwilling to spoil your song by an ill-timed intrusion. 
These were my alternatives — disturb your song, re- 
treat out of the sound of your voice, or remain to 
listen and enjoy. I chose the last. Am I pardon- 
able?” 

“You are so frank and innocent that it would be 
unpardonably cruel to punish you. But let us hope 
that you may never again be guilty of such petty 
thieving,” answered Marian, playfully. 

“As to the remark which you are in doubt about,” 


“I Can Wait” 


355 


continued Milford, “you sang as if memory had the 
power to bring into your very presence some de- 
parted friends or kindred. Are those portraits the 
likenesses of the faces of your parents?’' and he 
referred to the two pictures upon which Marian had 
looked while at the piano. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“I think that I have heard that they died vears 
ago?” • ^ 

“Yes, sir; mother died when I was but a child — 
I have only a faint remembrance of her. Father died 
about five years ago.” 

“And it seemed a literal truth that you gave ex- 
pression to when you sang ‘I like to sing the old 
songs, and fancy they live yet.’ ” 

“Yes, sir; that part of the song is literally true 
with me. And I would state it more positively still. 
My parents are not dead to me, only in so far as 
death may mean separation. No, sir; I believe that 
my parents live, and that they know immeasurably 
more of real life than we do here and now. And I 
believe that this is true with all the dear, loving, trust- 
ful ones who have gone from earth.” 

“Yet, Miss Mills, you are aware that there are 
many devout Christians who do not hold this view, 
but believe that their departed friends are sleeping 
in their tombs, and shall continue there until the time 
of general resurrection.” 

“Yes, sir; but I can not hold such a view as that. 
To me it is repulsive, unreasonable, and unlike any 
phase of the character of God that has ever been 
revealed to me. I feel sure that the fact of death 
never entered the original plan of God, as that plan 


356 


As They Did It 


related to man; and, however much or little God’s 
original plan was frustrated by the willful conduct of 
man, our Savior destroyed what power death may 
have gathered, robbed the grave of all its victory, 
and demonstrated that a being who is in full sym- 
pathy with the mind and purpose of God has no lot 
nor part in the tomb. What use can God have for 
a Saint Paul slumbering in the tomb for centuries? 
Every part of the character of Saint Paul rises to 
refute the tomb-sleeping theory. I can never think 
that he entertained, for a moment, the thought that 
he was going into the grave. Gould practical, ener- 
getic Saint Paul look down into the doom of dismal 
inactivity, to be prolonged for a score of centuries, 
and exultantly exclaim, 'I am going somewhere; the 
time of my departure is come?’ And in what di- 
rection could he have been looking — into the tomb 
of prolonged inactivity, or up and out into God’s 
newer and vaster unfoldings of life — when he ex- 
claimed, as he did when he wrote to his Church at 
Corinth, ‘For we know that if our earthly house of 
this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of 
God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the 
heavens?’ W’hat part in common with the grave 
had my loving, active, trustful father? No, sir! He 
never entered the grave ; neither did dear mother. 
The grave caught the earthly house of their taber- 
nacles, which were being dissolved; but they went 
on, out into a nobler realm of life replete. Why, 
Mr. Milford, you can not imprison the spirit of love — 
none but God has power to do that; and he never 
will, because he loves too well. I sometimes think 
that the theorists confine our loved ones in the tomb 


“I Can Wait” 


357 


because they find that the most convenient way to 
dispose of them or control them. But our Heavenly 
Father is not thus limited. He has a place and em- 
ployment for every one of his loving sons and daugh- 
ters ; and it does n't matter anything with me, if I 
do not know where the place is nor just what they 
are doing. Of course, I sometimes wonder much 
as to how it is, tracing the beautiful thought of the 
poet : 

‘I sometimes wonder if our teeming earth 
Is set so far away 

From that vast country, whose unmeasured fields 
Bask in perpetual day, 

That not a being of that mystic clime 
Can penetrate to know 
E’en but a little of the complex whole 
That intervolves us so ; 

Save those crowned spirits, whose strange mission is 
The ethereal route to trace. 

To come to us with matchless revelations 
Of love’s unequaled grace. 

I sometimes wonder if a precious part 
Of spirit-life employ 
Is supervision of this primal school, 

Noting the fear, the joy. 

The very motive prompting every deed, 

Each trending consequent. 

And giving credit to each struggling soul 
As every full intent 

Would designate ; taking the very teardrops 
Of penitential woe 

To set as pearls within the victor’s crown. 

Made ready ere we go.’ 

‘‘Yes, Mr. Milford, I do wonder, but I can wait; 
and while I am waiting, though at times I am a little 
pensive, I have peace, and usually am very happy. 


3S8 


As They Did It 


God is love, and his love is operative everywhere. 
My parents loved, and still love him. I also love 
him, and have a happy consciousness of his love; 
and though I can not know now all that is within the 
economy of his love, yet he has caused it to be 
written, ^Thou shalt know hereafter.’ My faith an- 
swers, Yes; and I can wait. But, Mr. Milford, here 
I am talking away of¥ from you and this beautiful 
evening. Yet I must impress you with the fact 
that you are largely in the fault. You led me to 
talk on such a subject. In fact, I was only answering 
your inquiries.” 

think I am to be complimented upon the art 
of putting questions, if you charge me correctly; 
and I certainly may be congratulated in that you 
have spoken so thoughtfully, and for me only.” 

‘‘Thank you,” replied Marian, “but it is for you 
to entertain now ; and that we may vary the program, 
I request a song from you.” 

“I ■ will comply with your request, if you will 
please be my accompanist,” was Milford’s reply ; and 
together they entered the house, and Marian sat 
down at the piano. 

“Bennett made a good soldier — eager for service, 
willing to undertake any hardship, courage to go 
anywhere — but he was a man of too fine a com- 
position to do service in this climate and at this 
season of the year. The same may be said of many 
of the Northern boys who have come down here. 
The climate of Cuba at this season, and the hard- 
ships that our soldiers have undergone for the last 
fortnight, have proved fatal to hundreds of our boys. 


“I Can Wait” 


359 


He was wounded early in the engagement on July 
the first. It was a deep flesh-wound in the thigh. 
He would not receive any special attention from a 
surgeon until the close of the day and our army 
had captured El Caney. He persisted in saying, ‘No, 
Doctor, there are many who are worse off than I ; 
I fll get along.’ His wound was doing quite well 
until he was taken with the fever. Since then he 
has been a very sick man. This is the first bit of 
good sleep that he has had for many weary days.” 

The above were the words of Chaplain Carrier. 
He was addressing Dr. Dunbarr as they two sat in 
a large but poorly-constructed tent, situated several 
miles east of Santiago and used for a hospital. It 
was late in the afternoon, and Dunbarr had but 
recently arrived. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


Hope 

“We are saved by hope.” 

'T^UNBARR was introduced to the nurses having 
charge of the ward wherein Bennett was lying. 
These nurses, being overworked at the time, and 
understanding that Dunbarr was a personal friend 
of Bennett, and a skillful physician withal, were 
pleased to leave the sick soldier to his care for a 
time ; and it may be added that Dunbarr was much 
gratified to assume the care of his suffering friend. 
He began as his skill and his years of practice would 
dictate ; he took his temperature, noted the action 
of his heart, sounded his lungs, and examined his 
wound as well as he could without thoroughly 
arousing him. Then he gave himself to a careful 
examination of the medicine which was being ad- 
ministered, and to his treatment in general, as far 
as he was able to determine it. Then he moistened 
the sick man’s lips in a way to awaken him partially 
out of his too heavy sleep. And then he sat and 
thought, silently, a few minutes ; his eyes, the mean- 
time, resting upon his friend: ‘'Dear Robert! Your 
friends in Warden would not recognize you — so 
brown and so emaciated ! How you must have suf- 
fered I The marks of pain are traceable upon your 
360 


Hope 


361 


once fair face. And yet more visible than these are 
the evidences of your noble purpose. It would be 
a miracle if you should recover in this vitiated at- 
mosphere, under this wretched tent, in this enervat- 
ing climate. Ah well ! this canopy was the best that 
they could afford you ; and it is a protection from 
this monotonous alternation of scorching sun and 
drenching rain. But if I can have my way, as soon 
as my baggage is brought up your circumstances 
shall be improved. I have set my heart on taking 
you back to Warden; and that not to die, soon, but 
to fulfill all the promise which I have seen budding 
within you in your brighter days.” 

His reverie was here interrupted by an effort 
which Bennett made to turn upon his cot. He was ly- 
ing with his face turned from Dunbarr, and when the 
latter stepped to his side to assist him, the sick man 
opened his eyes and beheld the face of his friend. 
Then he closed his eyes and lay quietly while a very 
perplexed expression, which had instantly possessed 
his countenance, gradually gave place to an expres- 
sion less puzzled, and, later, to a smile. 

Dunbarr waited in almost breathless suspense. 
He wondered if Bennett’s mind was sufficiently clear 
to recognize him, and, if so, what effect the revela- 
tion that he was present would have upon his sick 
friend ; and when that smile, which was so indicative 
of recognition, and of composure, and of gratifica- 
tion, lighted Bennett’s face, tears of pleasure and 
of gratitude filled Dunbarr’s eyes. And yet as he 
waited, he thought, with some anxiety: While I 
am sure that Robert recognized me, it may have 
been but for a moment, and he may never rally 


362 


As They Did It 

sufficiently to convince me that he comprehended the 
circumstance. But, see ! he continues to smile as 
if his mind restfully retains a pleasing fact/’ 

At this Bennett slowly opened his eyes and held 
them upon Dunbarr — not with a stare of confusion, 
but with a look of loving recognition — and his lips 
parted, and he feebly whispered : “Dr. Dunbarr ! You 
did come as you said you would.” 

Dunbarr, with difficulty, controlled his feelings 
as he took Bennett’s hand in his, and said with the 
reassurance and pleasing authority of a physician, 
“Yes, Bennett, my dear fellow, I have come to help 
you to get well and to accompany you back to your 
many friends in dear old Warden.” 

“Dear old Warden,” echoed Bennett, in a feeble 
whisper. 

- “But you must be very composed and quiet ; and 
you must obey orders perfectly. It will not be diffi- 
cult for a soldier to obey orders,” continued Dun- 
barr. 

“Not if issued by you. Doctor,” whispered Ben- 
nett, while the same smile lighted up his face more 
brightly. 

“Well, then, here is order number one: Take this 
nourishment, speak not another sentence for a half 
hour, shut your eyes, think just as little as you can, 
and, when you must think, just remember that we 
are reunited, and thank our Master for it, and also 
for the fact that you are to get well and go home 
with me.” 

“Long, isn’t it, and much of it?” was Bennett’s 
whispered reply. Then he took the nourishment and 
tried to sleep. 


Hope 


363 


At this a ward ph3^sician entered, accompanied 
by the head surgeon. These hesitated when they 
beheld a stranger at Bennett’s cot. But in a moment 
the surgeon approached Dunbarr, extended his hand, 
and remarked in a low tone : 

'‘Excuse me, sir, but I have met you somewhere 
and in other years. Wait a minute, please, to see 
if I can recollect. Did you finish a full medical course 
at a Western American university in the year 1890, 
and is your name Harmon Dunbarr?” 

"Yes, sir, to both of your questions. And you 
are Dr. Egbert Cutter, a teacher of surgery in that 
same university at the time you mention, unless I 
mistake you,” was Dunbarr’s reply. 

"You are right, Dunbarr, and I am pleased to 
meet you. I have heard from you only occasionally 
since your graduation. But every time the word 
that has come has substantiated the faith I had in 
you. I hope to have a few minutes’ leisure some- 
time to-morrow, and I wish to see you then. In the 
meantime be as much at home as possible among 
us ;” and the surgeon passed on to the cot of a suf- 
ferer to whom his particular attention had been called 
by the ward physician. 

The surgeon took occasion to speak words of 
commendation of Dunbarr to the nurses and ward 
physicians, and these treated him with courtesy and 
deference. "He was the best man in his class,” re- 
marked Surgeon Cutter; "and since graduation he 
has had a brilliant career. He is here to look after 
that man Bennett, I presume. Friendship, with Dun- 
barr, is only second to duty.” 

Recovery from a wound too long neglected, and 


3^4 


As They Did It 


from a malignant fever, is slow, under the most 
propitious conditions ; but here in Cuba, with mercury 
at near the one hundred mark a great portion of 
the time ; with the every-day drenching rains ; with 
the offensive fumes caused by rapid and contin- 
uously-repeated evaporation ; with the vitiating 
miasma, rising from half-decayed vegetable and ani- 
mal matter ; with improvised hospitals, poorly fur- 
nished and having an inadequate number of nurses, — 
to become severely sick was, in many, many cases, 
to die. But Dunbarr had staked his own knowledge, 
and skill, and means, and strength, and life if need 
be, for the recovery of Robert Bennett; and as the 
days and nights wore wearily on, he was gratified 
with a reasonable assurance that his efforts would 
succeed. 

His being favored with a previous acquaintance 
with the head surgeon was decidedly advantageous. 
Before leaving the continent, he had purchased a 
large and firm tent, two cots with other con- 
veniences, a supply of drugs, and some carefully- 
assorted food in packages. He soon selected a plat 
of ground, considerably elevated above its surround- 
ings, whereon to place his tent; but several days, 
at least, must pass before Bennett would be able to 
be moved. 

“Make the best of things here until your friend 
is able to be moved out to where you wish to place 
your tent, and then we will permit you to take him 
there,’’ Surgeon Cutter had said. “And, in the mean- 
time, take the best of care of yourself. You are 
not inured to these climatic conditions, and may 
succumb to fever any day. Make what use of the 


Hope 365 

ward nurses you can, and give yourself all the rest 
that you need/' 

Bennett was eager to converse, but was permitted, 
at first, to do so only a few minutes at a time. “Well, 
then, if I may not speak to you, you can talk to me, 
telling me what has taken place in Warden since 
I left,” said he in a whisper to Dunbarr. “You 
know that I left there the last week in April, and 
now it is July.” 

“Yes; it is past the middle of July, now. You 
have been from Warden nearly three months.. I 
will talk to you of home from time to time as you 
have strength to endure. Just keep your patience 
and continue to recover. In a few days I wish to 
move you to better quarters. I am only waiting un- 
til your strength is equal to it. Our Warden friends 
are waiting to give you a royal welcome home.” 

Bennett's condition was such that, after a few 
days, Dunbarr felt justifiable in leaving him with a 
nurse, for short intervals, while he visited other 
places. As he was passing through the wards of 
another hospital one afternoon, he came to the cot 
whereon lay a fever patient whose face attracted 
Dunbarr, and he remarked to the attending nurse : 

“That face attracts me. I have met it before, 
I think. Let me recall. Is his name Welch?” 

“It is; and he is a very sick man. His fever 
will have run fourteen days to-morrow; and he has 
been delirious the greater part of the time. He has 
mentioned several names, during this time, that I 
have never met ; and I think that one of these names 
is yours. Were you not introduced to me as Dr. 
Dunbarr ?” 


366 


As They Did It 


‘‘Yes, sir. That is my name. In what connection 
did he mention it?’' 

'Tt is difficult to state. He has spoken so in- 
coherently. I recall that he said at one time, ‘He ’s 
a man, a man, is Dr. Dunbarr. May some happier 
object occasion our future meeting. Yes, indeed, 
indeed!’ He is a bright and well-educated fellow. 
It seems a pity that he should die here; but death 
seems almost certain.” 

‘T was sure that I had met him, and I recall the 
circumstances now. I have a deep interest in the 
poor fellow, and if you will permit, I will examine 
him a little more closely.” 

“Feel perfectly at liberty to do so. Doctor,” re- 
plied the nurse. “I think that his fever is no higher 
than it was yesterday at this time.” 

“I may come in and see him occasionally,” re- 
marked Dunbarr, after a superficial examination of 
Welch. “The matter will change with him before 
many hours, likely, and we will hope for the bet- 
ter; but the case looks doubtful. Could these hun- 
dreds of brave fellows be instantly placed within 
the comfortable homes from which they came, there 
to be afforded the conveniences which are impossible 
here, many valuable lives could be saved. It seems 
awful to me that so many noble fellows must lie 
here in their uniform — some without a cot or even 
a pillow — while their vital forces are being consumed 
of fever. A bed and a night-shirt would be a God- 
send, would mean life, to hundreds in this camp. 
I will return presently, and, with your aid, will try 
to make Welch’s condition more favorable.” 

Dunbarr had been advised by members of the 


Hope 


367 


Woman's Christian Temperance Union and of the 
Army Christian Commission to purchase, among 
other hospital supplies, a number of night-shirts, 
before he sailed for Santiago. A few minutes after 
his first visit he returned to Welch, and, aided by 
the nurse, removed the clothing in which the sick 
man had lain so long, bathed his fevered body and 
robed it in a clean night-shirt. 

'Tie appears more comfortable now, and I shall 
see him often for the next week. I wish that we could 
do as much for all of these sufferers," remarked 
Dunbarr; and then he left the ward. 

It was feared that Welch would sink so low when 
his fever left him, that he could not be rallied; and 
this might have been had not Dunbarr given him 
that particular attention which he could not other- 
wise have received. But, favored as he was, his 
fever gradually abated, his mind slowly became clear, 
and his recovery seemed quite sure. 

Bennett's condition was slowly improving also, 
and he was permitted to converse a little at frequent 
intervals during the day. 

'T have a bit of good news to tell you," remarked 
Dunbarr one afternoon. "To-morrow I intend to 
move you to a more advantageous location. I have 
placed my private tent upon a little knoll some 
twenty rods away, and I have obtained permission 
to take you there. The location will afford a little 
better air, the surroundings will be a little more 
cheerful, and we will seek to make our new quarters 
as homelike as we can. But we will try not to be- 
come closely attached to it, because we are soon 
to move again, I believe." 


368 


As They Did It 


“I shall be glad to do anything that will improve 
my condition and hasten my recovery, Doctor; but 
I shall feel a little sad at leaving this hospital, for 
they have been so kind to me here ; and, then, right 
here I experienced that which I had almost despaired 
•of, and yet the hope of it kept me up for many a 
weary hour, — it was right here that I was privileged 
to look upon your familiar face once more, and had 
sufficient strength of mind to recognize it. I did 
not permit myself to become homesick before I was 
wounded; in fact, I had not time to entertain such 
feelings. But the forced leisure of hospital life, with 
the sufferings incident to my wound and the fever, 
afforded ample opportunity to think of my old friends, 
and awakened an unspeakable longing to see them 
once more. At last, as I continued to grow worse, 
I yielded to my intense longing, and requested Chap- 
lain Carrier to send you a message. Then I held 
to the hope that you would come ; and this did nearly 
as much for me as the medicine which they gave 
me. There is much truth in the statement that 
Sve are saved by hope.’ But I see by your face 
that it is time for me to lapse into silence once more ; 
yet I am not so very weary, and you may talk to 
me while I close my eyes and listen.” 

“You will please excuse me for a little time. In 
another hospital I found a man whom, by chance, 
I met once in Warden. He has been very sick for 
a fortnight, and it is a critical time with the poor 
fellow just now. You are comfortable, and may 
sleep while I am gone,” and Dunbarr arose to leave 
the ward. 

“Up to your same old ways, are n’t you ? Seek- 


Hope 


369 


ing to help the fellow who needs you most. Yes, 
I ’ll give you up a little time for such a mission 
and Bennett smiled and closed his eyes. 

Up to this time Dunbarr had succeeded in es- 
caping the eyes of Welch, and he had requested that 
no one should mention his name in Welch’s hearing. 
But now that he was beginning to realize what was 
going on about him, Dunbarr found it more difficult 
to hide from him. Upon leaving Bennett, at the time 
just mentioned, Dunbarr went directly to Welch’s 
ward, intending still to keep himself concealed ; but, 
on entering, he perceived that Welch required im- 
mediate attention, and that all the nurses were too 
busy to attend upon him. He, therefore, went 
promptly to his cot, assisted him to change his po- 
sition slightly, gave him a little cold water and a 
spoonful of nourishment, and, as he was about to 
turn away, he saw that Welch had fixed his eyes 
upon him inquiringly. 

^‘Is there something more that you would like?” 
Dunbarr asked, calmly. 

‘Wes,” feebly whispered the sick soldier. “Am 
I in my right mind?” 

“I think that you are.” 

“Well, then, am I in the same hospital where I 
have been sick so long?” 

“You are, and we are doing all we can to bring 
you back to health and strength.” 

“Undoubtedly. But how long have you been 
here ?” 

“Quite a time. I becanie interested in your con- 
dition several days ago.” 

“Then may be I am mistaking you. I thought 
24 


370 


As They Did It 


that you were the Dr. Dunbarr whom I met in 
Warden at one time; but I am so weak that I have 
mistaken you for him. I must rest now. Come 
here again soon, and I will tell you about him.’’ 

''That is right. Remain quiet, and rest all that 
you can. I will come often, and you may tell me 
about your friend. Your first duty, however, is to 
get well.” 

"Get well !” echoed Welch. "Have you a hope 
that I can get well ?” 

"Certainly I have, a reasonable hope. And you 
must entertain that hope, for you are surely better.” 

"Hope ! A vital word, that ! I would rather 
not die now. I want to live and redeem my past.” 

"Well, then, take another spoonful of gruel, and 
then just rest; for the fever has nearly worn you 
out.” 

"You are not the one who attended me the other 
day and spoke to me about hope,” remarked Welch 
to a nurse the day after he had spoken to Dunbarr. 

"No, I ’m not the one,” answered the nurse. 

"Who and where is he now, and may I see him 
again?” 

"He is a physician who frequently visits this hos- 
pital ; and he is in our ward now, and you may see 
him ; but remember that you are too weak to be 
permitted to talk much to any one.” 

Dunbarr, who had been standing so near that he 
had overheard their conversation, stepped around 
so that he might approach from the foot of the cot, 
and, addressing the nurse, said : "This patient of 
yours is steadily recovering. I can see an improve- 
ment from yesterday.” And then, addressing the 


Hope 


371 


sick man, he said : ''You are to be congratulated, 
Mr. Welch, that you are so well to-day. But you 
must realize that you are not beyond the possibility 
of a relapse.'’ 

"Will you please sit a moment by my side?” asked 
Welch, feebly. 

"Certainly; but you will not be permitted to talk 
much, remember.” 

"I will leave you two together, for I am needed 
elsewhere now,” remarked the nurse. 

"Yesterday I thought I knew you, but soon con- 
cluded that I was mistaken, for I was so weak. But 
I was not quite satisfied, and I could not put it out 
of my mind. And to-day I am more positive than 
yesterday that you are Dr. Harmon Dunbarr. Am 
I not correct?” 

"Yes, sir, Mr. Welch, you are correct. Compose 
yourself, and I will talk to you a little. I came here 
to attend my sick friend, Robert Bennett, of Warden. 
After a week or ten days, as I was passing through 
this ward, I found and recognized you, and, naturally 
enough, I have taken more than a general interest 
in you.” 

"Was I delirious when you found me?” 

"Yes; but your mind was not wandering so much 
as it had done, they said.” 

"When I came to myself, I found this pillow, 
and that I was in possession of a comfortable night- 
shirt ; did you furnish these ?” 

"Yes, I secured a few such articles before sail- 
ing for this place. I was instructed that they could 
not be readily obtained here.” 

"And what do you intend to do now. Doctor?” 


372 


As They Did It 

soon as you are able, if you desire it, I have 
secured permission to move you to my private tent, 
vv^here we hope to hasten your recovery. In the 
meantime I intend to visit you often here, just to 
see that you are obeying orders regularly. But we 
have visited enough for this time. Your mind is 
relieved of the uncertainty as to my identity, and 
nothing remains for you but to keep quiet and re- 
cover.’’ 

“Doctor, I thank you. But you are aware that 
I do not merit the kindness that you have shown and 
still intend?” 

“As to that, my dear fellow, the best of us would 
fare poorly if we only received just that which we 
strictly merit. Take some nourishment, and then I 
shall leave you for a time. Good-bye, now.” 

“Good-bye! But how is Bennett?” 

“Improving nicely. I will tell him that you have 
inquired after him.” 

Each passing day, now, marked to Bennett and 
to Welch returning health and strength — not in rapid 
measure, but by dull degrees, yet surely; and with 
increase of strength came corresponding hopeful- 
ness ; and so it came to pass that the last of July, 
Dunbarr and his two friends were quite cheerfully 
located in his private tent. It was evident, however, 
that Bennett would not, for many months at least, 
be able to resume a soldier’s duty. The bullet wound 
in his thigh had seriously weakened that leg. “It 
will be a year, at best, before that limb has regained 
its normal strength. I will secure his discharge as 
soon as he is able to go home,” had said the head 
surgeon of Bennett’s hospital. 


Hope 


373 


^What course will you pursue?” asked Dunbarr 
of Welch, one Sunday evening as they, with Bennett, 
sat facing westward, where the sun, which had been 
hidden by rain-clouds the greater part of the day, 
had just set clearly, crowned with gorgeous glory. 

“Well,” answered Welch, thoughtfully, “first of 
all I propose to be a man in the deepest and truest 
significance of that term. I had a vision last spring 
in your office in Warden; and that vision has fre- 
quently disturbed me since that day ; not that there 
was anything repulsive in it, but because, by the law 
of contrast, I saw my own utter unworthiness. In my 
delirium of fever, your conduct and words of that 
spring day were frequently before my eyes and in 
my mind ; and when I would partially arouse myself, 
I sincerely wished that you were near to influence me. 
But I could not even hope for that to be. How 
strange it is that you came and found me ! I said 
to myself, last spring, when I left your office, that 
if I ever should desire to be a better man, you were 
the very person to whom I should go for help. Dun- 
barr, ever since that day I have desired to be a bet- 
ter man. Speak, please, for my benefit, a few words 
about the better way.” 

“Mr. Welch, it would afford me great pleasure 
to help you, but I know so Jittle about the better 
way. First of all, you need to take your eyes from 
me and to look upon the Christ. I am too imper- 
fect in thought and life for any one to imitate. He 
is infinite perfection ; yet he is so simple in char- 
acter that we may appreciate him and learn of him 
and love him. The western sky and a broad ex- 
panse of water, yonder, reflect the beauty of the set- 


374 


As They Did It 


ting sun; so the real goodness of mankind is a re- 
flection of the all-glorious Christ. The work of 
the sun to-day has been that of tranformation. The 
seed-life has been changed to plant-life. The vital 
forces of the plant have been changed to flowers ; 
the flowers to fruit ; the imperfectly developed fruit 
to that which is perfectly developed; and the sun 
has been a powerful agent, to-day, to dissipate and 
destroy germs of disease and death. It is the blessed 
mission of the Christ to transform our very beings, 
and to destroy the elements of spiritual death. You 
have reason, Mr. Welch, to entertain a lively hope 
of a noble life and a noble career when you embrace 
Christ as your Savior and your personal Friend. 
What he says is truth. The new life he begets within 
us is a true and blessed life. The career that he leads 
us to is noble and truly glorious. Himself is the hope 
of our sinful race.” 

They sat in silence a moment, and then Welch 
spoke : believe that your words are true. Doctor, 

and I thank you for them. They are as a sweet 
echo of a voice that has been silent for years — the 
teaching of my mother. I would fix my hope in 
Christ.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


“Treat It Fairly” 

“The entrance of thy Word giveth light.’' 

/^NE week after reaching Cuba, Dunbarr had writ- 
ten briefly to his pastor, informing him of Ben- 
nett’s condition and of the hope which he entertained 
concerning the result of his sickness. The contents 
of this letter were made known to the Christian 
Endeavor Society of Warden, and the corresponding 
secretary was authorized to write to these, their two 
absent members, expressing gratification that Dun- 
barr could be with Bennett when he was in such 
need of a skillful friend, informing them that their 
absence was keenly felt, that the society regularly 
remembered them at the Throne of Grace, and that 
they, by the mercy of God, hoped to welcome them, 
before many weeks, to their accustomed places and 
work in the First Church of Warden. “Please write 
to us,” ended the letter. 

On receiving this communication, Dunbarr re- 
marked to Bennett : “A letter from Warden is a word 
from home, is it not ? I can appreciate, in part, what 
your loneliness was when, without an old-time friend 
for a companion, you were disabled by a wound and 
very sick of fever. I am in full strength and health 
and have you for company, but I am so lonesome 
375 


376 


As They Did It 


here that this letter from our Warden friends is 
a message possessing unique charms. No, I am not 
homesick ; but I am within the neighborhood of such 
a condition, and shall hail with delight that day 
whereon we shall turn our faces homeward.’’ 

When Welch and Bennett were convalescent, and 
Dunbarr had leisure, he wrote at some length to 
his Christian Endeavor Society. He first described 
quite minutely the country and the villages situated 
within the vicinity of Santiago, and then spoke of 
the city itself as he saw it ten days after General 
Toral surrendered it to General Shatter, of the 
United States army. ''But,” wrote he, "I should 
fail of the principal object that I have intended 
should this letter not convey to you some account 
of the humanitarian and religious efforts which one 
witnesses here on this unfortunate island in this 
time of war. I wish that I could impress you, as 
I have been impressed, with the fact that the Chris- 
tian religion is far-reaching and supremely practical. 
One believes this, and sees proof of it in his own 
homeland city; but when one sees organized relig- 
ious effort marching forth with our armies — nay, 
in some instances, preceding our armies — into a land 
of direst destitution, into the very jaws of death, 
for no other object than to relieve suffering and 
to present to sinful humanity the mighty yet loving 
Savior of the world; when one witnesses the con- 
secration of noble life, of the brightest of talent, 
and of the hundreds of thousands of dollars that 
this object may be obtained; and when one perceives 
that this object is beautifully reached and gloriously 
realized, — one has a truer appreciation of humanity, 


“Treat It Fairly” 


377 


a broader perception of duty, a deeper and truer 
admiration of the Christian religion, and a love for 
the world’s Savior which transcends every other at- 
tribute of the soul. I remember that our Christian 
Endeavor Society has, from time to time, been re- 
quested to contribute to the Army Christian Com- 
mission, and that the Society responded with less 
than its usual promptness, because it was not fully 
apprised of the importance of the work. I have 
had some opportunity to witness the work of this 
organization. At the first landing of our soldiers 
upon this island, it was not perceptible ; but now 
that there are established camps and a more stable 
condition of the army, the offices of the Commission 
are apparent ; and to the soldier, away from the 
wholesome restraint of home and of well-organized 
society, the ministrations of this Commission are of 
immeasurable good. It provides for the soldier a 
home, a place of pure amusement, and a sanctuary 
into which he may turn from the open gambling-dens, 
from the temptation of the ‘strange woman,’ and 
from the curse of strong drink. This organization 
is beautiful in its history. ‘To the Christian Com- 
mission,’ said General U. S. Grant, ‘the army felt 
the same gratitude that the loyal people felt for the 
service rendered by the army.’ And our Secretaries 
of War and of the Navy and our General-in-Chief, 
at the breaking out of the war with Spain, unhesi- 
tatingly approved of the Christian Commission, 
granting it valuable and peculiar privileges. It is a 
fact to be regretted that a large per cent of the young 
men of our Nation are not reached by the Church 
or brought within the direct influence of any re- 


As They Did It 


378 

ligious service ; but, yielding to the call of pleasure 
or to the temptation of vice, they remain unchurched 
and untaught concerning the things of God. But 
this branch of the work of the Young Men’s Chris- 
tian Association, recognizing the fact that the army 
brings the young men together in great congrega- 
tions, comes to these multitudes, spreads its tents 
for divine worship, and conducts evangelistic 
services in which thousands are brought under 
the influence of the gospel, and hundreds are con- 
verted from a life of sin. This work of the Young 
Men’s Christian Association will not end with the 
conquest of Cuba or at the close of this war; but 
wherever our standing army and our navy shall be 
located, at home or abroad, there will the Army 
Christian Commission be, and there will it continue 
its Christlike service. 

''Another instrument of immeasurable good, born 
of Christian philanthropy, is the service of the Red 
Cross Society with our army and navy. As is the 
knowledge of the name and character of its illus- 
trious founder, Clara Barton, world-wide, so are 
the mission and offices of the Red Cross. It is re- 
corded of Clara Barton that her influence was potent 
on every battlefield of our Civil War; that her sooth- 
ing hand lifted the dying head on both sides of the 
Franco-German War; that she organized and con- 
ducted the relief of the suffering Armenians in 1896; 
and that she came speedily to the aid of the starving 
reconcentrados in this island. To trace the history 
of this wonderful woman is to follow the line of 
march of the Red Cross, at first in its incipiency, 
but later in its gloriously symmetrical development; 


“Treat It Fairly” 379 

for the history of Clara Barton and the Red Cross 
are one and inseparable. 

''Spain's hostility to our country compelled Miss 
Barton and her associates to leave Cuba early in 
this year ; but they remained away but a little while, 
and in that little while they enlarged their plans, 
recruited and reorganized their forces, and enriched 
their storehouses by hundreds of thousands of dol- 
lars' worth of supplies ; and, thus strengthened, they 
returned to Eastern Cuba, following in the path of 
Sampson to Siboney, to San Juan, and to Santiago, 
with scores of physicians and skilled nurses, with 
Bible-readers, with reading matter and with a vast 
amount of hospital supplies. Thus, on an enlarged 
scale, is the Red Cross doing a work of love similar 
to that done by the Woman's Christian Temperance 
Union on the continent, at Camp Thomas, and else- 
where. Does the nineteenth century afford a picture 
more richly set in love than that of this more than 
one thousand volunteers, who, during this war, serve 
their country in this peaceful Red Cross army? 

"But the entire force of these humane organiza- 
tions can not be directed to the alleviation of suffer- 
ing incident to the tragedy of the battlefield and to 
the scourge of an unhealthful climate, because there 
is here a deadly enemy against which they must 
engage ; one which, if not encouraged by our national 
authorities, is permitted to pitch its tent alongside 
that of our soldier boys, there to effect a death more 
ignoble than that effected by the Spaniard's bullet. 
I refer to the 'Army Canteen.' I am convinced that 
facts prove the falsity of the argument that for the 
soldier to be afforded a limited supply of liquor — as 


380 


As They Did It 


is the nominal rule of the ‘Canteen’ — is to prevent 
his thirst from leading him away to the open saloon, 
there to drink to excess. Facts and figures show 
that the soldier’s thirst is whetted by the liquor 
which he obtains at the ‘Army Canteen.’ It is as 
sad as it is strange that our Nation, while marching 
on to conquer an armed foe, will cherish a deadlier 
foe within its own bosom ; that the efforts of love 
must be thwarted by a counter-effort on the part 
of him whom love seeks to save; yet this strange, 
sad fact is a part of the history of human nature.” 

Dunbarr closed his letter with the following sen- 
tence: “We, with you, cherish the glad thought that, 
by the mercies of our God, we shall soon be per- 
mitted to return to Warden.” 

“And so we are to break up this, our little camp, 
next Tuesday afternoon?” remarked Robert Bennett 
on the evening of the first Sunday of August. He 
had been discharged because his wound incapacitated 
him for further service, and they were only waiting 
for a suitable opportunity to return to the conti- 
nent. 

“I wish that I were able to return to my regi- 
ment and report for duty at the time of your de- 
parture,” replied Welch; “but the surgeon says that 
I must wait a week yet. I shall not permit myself 
to become lonesome, however, when you are gone. 
I shall go back to the hospital, and make myself use- 
ful while I am regaining strength.” 

“I had thought to make you a present of our 
tent and outfit here. You may christen it Camp 
Bennett, if you like. It will mitigate Bennett’s dis- 
appointment to leave his name in Cuba, now that a 


“Treat It Fairly” 381 

Spanish bullet-wound sends him back to his native 
land/’ 

‘'Thank you, Dr. Dunbarr; you are a generous 
fellow ; but I must decline the responsibility of main- 
taining Bennett’s good name here. It will tax me, 
I fear, to maintain for myself a good reputation. 
This, by the help of Heaven, I mean to do, however. 
I think that it will be better to take ‘Camp Bennett’ 
home with you to serve as a war souvenir. On some 
future, happy day, we three may meet again in the 
land of peace. It would be pleasant then to pitch 
this tent on some secluded hillock, and there to re- 
count our Cuban experiences. Moreover, Uncle 
Sam is thoroughly established now in this part of 
the island, and he has an abundance of tents.” 

“We will do as you wish, Mr. Welch; and in the 
meantime Bennett and myself will be looking forward 
to the reunion which your thought has anticipated.” 

“There is one comrade whom I wish to visit be- 
fore I leave Cuba,” remarked Bennett, thoughtfully. 
“His name was Luce — James Luce. He was a warm- 
hearted but reckless fellow. He was born and bred 
in the city, but, as he stated it, ‘came through scot- 
free from all the restrictions of the Sunday-school 
and all those other pious institutions.’ He was a 
true and brave soldier, but the hardships of army 
life sobered him somewhat, and, too, he became a 
trifle homesick. I prevailed upon him to attend re- 
ligious services with me a few times, and he became 
more thoughtful. One night, after attending a re- 
ligious meeting, he said to me, ‘Bennett, that Bible 
is a queer book, is n’t it ? But I think I like it a 
bit, and I half feel as if I ’d like to have one myself. 


382 


As They Did It 


Do you know I never owned a Bible ? I never would. 
I always said to them: “No; I don’t care for one; 
thanks, I have no use for it.” But here, so far away 
from home, and expecting soon to go into battle, 
someway I liked those Bible words that Chaplain 
Carrier read to-night. They make one think that 
maybe there is another world into which we fellows 
may be ushered any day; and one sort of feels that 
there is love back of those words ; and, as I said, I 
more than half wish that I had a Bible of my 
own.’ 

“I told him that I had a small Bible which had 
a snatch of interesting history, and, if he really 
wished a Bible for its own worth, I would give him 
this one. I referred to a Bible which Miss Bronson 
gave me on the day that I left Warden. She came 
to where I was standing on the steps of the car, 
waiting for the train to start, and said to me : ‘Mr. 
Bennett, here is a dear little Bible, a book of my 
childhood, which I wish to be of some special, further 
service to mankind. So I have thought that I would 
like to send it to the war with you, requesting that 
you shall place it in the hands of some one who 
is really destitute of such a book, and who may be 
led by it to love and serve our Master.’ I took the 
book — it was a beautiful little thing, tied with a 
dainty ribbon — promising her that I would endeavor 
to use it effectually. Well, I told Luce this, adding 
that Miss Bronson was a refined and beautiful 
woman. He was much interested, and said thought- 
fully, ‘Bennett, if you will give me that Bible, I will 
take it as my own, treat it fairly, and let it influence 
me all that it has power to do ; yes, and I will prom- 


“Treat It Fairly” 


383 


ise to read it candidly/ I gave it to him, and a few 
days afterward I was wounded, and have not heard 
from him since. To-morrow I shall try to learn of 
his whereabouts.'' 

Dunbarr listened to this recital of Bennett's with 
twofold interest ; and when Bennett had concluded, 
Dunbarr went out into the twilight, that he might 
be alone with his thoughts. He did not remain 
long, however, but soon turned and walked toward 
the hospital, where, at the first, he had found Ben- 
nett, thinking, meantime, “I have learned a few im- 
portant facts to-night, not the least of which is that 
I can not trust my impressions nor afford to be con- 
trolled by my moods." 

He had not advanced far down one of the wards 
of the hospital when he observed, several yards be- 
fore him, two nurses and a physician bending over 
a soldier's cot. He approached noiselessly, and a 
nurse turned to him and whispered: "Poor boy! 
he has gone. Death is no uncommon event with us 
here — many are dying of this relentless fever daily — 
but this was a case of more than usual interest." 

“Will you please briefly state the facts relating 
to this case?" asked Dunbarr. 

“Certainly. Do you see that little book lying in 
his hand? Well, it seems that a friend of his gave 
it to him. He was brought in here, slightly disabled 
by an accident, and was made fairly comfortable 
until he was attacked by fever. Much of the time, 
until the fever made it impossible for him to do so, 
he read this Bible. He asked me to come to his 
bedside just before his mind became confused, and 
said to me : ‘If I do not recover, tell Robert Ben- 


384 


As They Did It 


nett, if you can find him, that I kept my word to 
him, and read the book each day. Tell him that I 
came to love it ; but, better still, tell him that I came 
to love the Christ that this dear book speaks of, 
and have taken him as my Savior. Though my sins 
were many, yet this little book pointed them all out 
to me and then revealed to me the fact that the 
great, loving Savior stood by my side, waiting to 
take all my sins away and to give peace and rest 
to my poor life. If I die, tell Bennett to take this 
book and use it again, to do some poor sinner good. 
But if he does not live to take it, then would it be 
wrong to bury it within the clasped hands of a dead 
soldier boy?’’ His mind became uncertain soon after 
this, and did not become clear until a few minutes 
before his death. Then he opened his eyes and 
looked around as if in search of something, and he 
tried to raise his hand. We anticipated him, placed 
the book in his hand and held it where he could see 
it plainly, and he whispered : ‘That is it. Blessed 
book ! God forgive my long and willful disregard 
of it ! Bennett must take it and use it again, as he 
did with me. I shall soon have no use for it. It 
speaks of the Father’s house and the many mansions. 
I am going there soon now.’ Then he closed his 
eyes and smiled, but did not speak again. We left 
the Bible in his hand, for the end came quickly.” 

Dunbarr could not speak for a moment ; but when 
he could control his voice, he said : “Please place the 
Bible on this stand, and let it remain there until 
to-morrow morning; we will then help Mr. Bennett 
to visit the form of his dead friend. I would like,- 


“Treat It Fairly” 


38s 


please, to have you present when he comes in, and 
relate to him the facts which you have related to me. 
Good-night, now and Dunbarr went out of the 
hospital pensively. 

He made no mention of the discovery of Luce 
until the morning, and then he related none of the 
particulars. 

At about seven o’clock in the morning, a nurse 
came to assist in conveying Bennett to the hospital. 
He was still weak, and his wounded leg was prac- 
tically useless. Welch accompanied them. He said 
to Dunbarr and Bennett, “Every soldier I hold as 
a friend, but your friends I hold as mine in par- 
ticular.” 

Bennett was deeply moved as he sat by the life- 
less form of his comrade, and listened to the brief 
history given by the nurse. Then, after a moment’s 
silence, he spoke as to his departed friend: ‘‘Well, 
dear boy, you did as you said you would ; you treated 
the book fairly, and it brought light to your soul; 
and in this has been fulfilled that which is recorded, 
‘The entrance of thy words giveth light.’ But how 
we wish that you could have remained to live forth 
the life of that new-found light ! But ’t is better so ; 
yes, quite likely, ’t is better so, although we may 
not see why.” 

Chaplain Carrier was present at this time, and 
was much moved by the incident. In the evening 
he conducted a large religious service, and spoke 
of the wholesome influence of the Bible upon the 
lives of men. In his address he spoke of Luce and 
the power that the Bible had had to make his life 
25 


386 


As They Did It 


better and his death hopeful. “Here is the book 
that our dead comrade cherished in the last few weeks 
of life and at the moment of his death,” remarked 
the chaplain, holding up the little Bible to the gaze 
of his congregation; “and all that any of its friends 
asks in its behalf is just that which our dead friend 
promised to do, and did. ‘I will treat it fairly,’ was 
the promise he made and kept. Only this we ask, 
'Treat it fairly;’ give it a candid hearing and an 
honest test, and as sure as God exists, so sure will 
this Word bring light, and lead the life of man into 
purity and peace. Valuable was the Bible to our 
comrade at his death ; and precious, indeed, would it 
have become to him could he have lived to practice 
continually its precepts.” 

Mr. Carrier called upon Bennett the following 
morning to say good-bye to him. “I return the 
little book,” he said, “that you may take it home 
with you. It was the dying request of comrade Luce 
that it should be placed within your care. It will be 
a souvenir of peculiar worth to you, one that you 
will turn to practical account.” 

Gertrude Bronson kept her engagement with 
Thomas Wilson, calling upon him at the time which 
he had designated. She found him restless and very 
unhappy. While he could not disguise his pleasure 
at her kindly remembrance of him, yet he was not 
inclined to converse freely. In answer to her in- 
quiry he said : “Oi ’m roight miserable, Miss. To 
shtay in this same wan shpot aich wary day o’ this 
orful hot toime, an’ meanwhilst to suffer the tor- 
ments o’ a pain, is very savare on a poor mon. Miss.” 


“Treat It Fairly” 


387 

Gertrude suggested that before long he might 
be permitted to change his position slightly, and each 
little change would make the days of his recovery 
to pass more rapidly. To this he replied, “Wall, yis ; 
but when Oi ’m oot wid this, soom oother great ill 
will be soon a-waitin’ fur me. Miss.’’ 

“But can we not be more hopeful, Mr. Wilson?” 
urged Gertrude. 

“That ’s the word. Miss, that Oi ’ve nigh aboot 
lost the sight o’; an’ Oi ’ve said to mesilf, 'No, Tom ; 
yez ha’ no more use fur the word hope.’ ” 

“When you did hope, Mr. Wilson, you succeeded 
better; do you not remember? And why will you 
not hope again?” 

“Now, Miss, Oi belave yez are thinkin’ o’ the 
toime when Oi had a hope in the Christ that yez 
shpoke aboot to hilp me. An’ if so. Miss, that hope 
is no more good to me at all.” 

“I was thinking of that hope, Mr. Wilson ; and 
why is it of no more good to you now?” 

“It ’s no fault o’ His, Miss ; it ’s jist me own. 
Oi ’m loike the sick mon that will not take the medi- 
cine that the wise an’ good docthor puts oot fur him. 
Oi haer the roight way that He tells to me, an’ then 
Oi jist walks away an’ hades it niver at all. An’ 
soomtoimes. Miss, that word is plain to me aer, as it 
was on the last toime sayin’ to me, 'Tom Wilson, 
yez ought n’t to niver do it.’ An’ so Oi coom to be 
loike the manny oothers who go to the matins, but 
will not let him be a hilp to ’em.” 

“But, Mr. Wilson, you can see that such people 
are practicing a great wrong; and you do not in- 
tend to continue in such an evil course, do you ?” 


388 


As They Did It 

''Well, Oi kint jist tell to yez. Oi ’d the rither 
not do the great evil more at all. Oi ’d rither jist 
thrate Him fair, Miss ; jist take the way that he tells 
to me, an’ kape roight into it. But Oi sae, Oi kint 
jist tell what Oi ’ll be fur doin’. If Oi could jist 
sae me good Dr. Dunbarr an’ haer him shpake a 
koind word wanst more, Oi moight git a bit o’ a hope. 
Jist wait soomtoime yit, an’ then Oi may be able 
to tell soom sure word to yez.” 

^'Do you intend to take a vacation this season, 
Dr. Burns ?” 

"I usually do in the extreme hot weather, and 
doubtless I need a little rest ; but our work here is 
so interesting that I can not bear the thought of 
leaving it, even for a few weeks,” was the doctor’s 
reply. He was riding one Saturday evening, the last 
of July, with his young friend, Walter Milford. Mil- 
ford had driven to the parsonage for Dr. Burns, 
and they were riding leisurely here and there in the 
city. At this particular moment they were approach- 
ing the corner of Genesee Avenue and East Cedar 
Street — a locality which they of late frequently vis- 
ited together. 

"How rapidly the work on the foundation of the 
new church is progressing,” continued Dr. Burns, 
"and what a genuine interest the people of this part 
of the city are taking in the matter ! And, Mr. Mil- 
ford, you can not appreciate the change for the bet- 
ter that has taken place in the people of this neigh- 
borhood within the last three months ; no stranger 
can appreciate it. The change is perceptible in their 
personal appearance, and in and about their homes, 


“Treat It Fairly” 


389 


and in the community generally. And there is but 
one fact which can adequately explain this : these 
people have heard the gospel of Christ and have seen 
that it was meant for them. God’s Word has been 
taught them, and the entrance of his words giveth 
light.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


Resuming Work 


“ Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it.” 

HE last night of his sojourn upon the island of 



^ Cuba, Dunbarr was restless. Having tried in 
vain to sleep, he arose from his cot about midnight, 
and went aimlessly out into the night. The sky was 
clear now, and richly set with stars ; and the moon, 
just at her last quarter, cast a calm but uncertain 
light upon tjie island ; and the sea-breeze, now land- 
ward, was cool and invigorating ; and Dunbarr felt 
that nature could impose her charms upon him, even 
in Cuba. But he did not yield so completely to the 
natural beauty of the hour as was his wont to do. 
He was too preoccupied ; yet nature’s charm was 
upon him. He had walked but a few rods from his 
tent when he began audibly to disclose his thoughts : 

^^This is my last night on this island, eh? Well, 
I hope so, until many months have gone, at least. 
But I shall long remember my sojourn here, and the 
calm beauty of this night. Nature seems to aid Cuba 
to make a favorable impression upon me at the last. 
To-morrow we are to sail for my own country, my 
own city, my home. Is it a complete home, or sim- 
ply my bachelor apartments, made permanent, to 
which I go? In this lies the uncertainty. Ah, but 
it is an uncertainty in which a hope reposes ! This 


Resuming Work 


391 


bit of cardboard/’ he continued, holding a white card 
up in the moonlight, '‘is to me of a price above the 
rubies of the Orient, because it bears the name of 
her who gave it to me at our hasty parting, these 
weeks, which seem so many months, ago. ‘It is all 
I have here to send,’ she said, ‘and it is for you.’ 
Circumstances have led me to conclude that I mis- 
took the attitude of her mind toward our friend Ben- 
nett. And how ignorant I am concerning her real 
consideration of me ! But, as I come to think of it, 
I know all that I deserve to know about it. I have 
kept so far from committing myself to her that I 
have been zealous to conceal my feelings from her. 
This manner of procedure, or lack of procedure, is a 
thing of the past. Gertrude Bronson shall know 
from me the regard in which I hold her. I will tell 
her the story of my love, if I am permitted to rejoin 
her in her native city. The cautious notions which I 
have held shall not prevent me longer. I suppose 
that I should anticipate with rapture the time when 
I may see again my former patients, and have the 
privilege of entering into religious service with my 
own Church and Sunday-school and Christian En- 
deavor Society; and I do anticipate all this with al- 
most boundless pleasure ; but I must, in candor, ac- 
knowledge that I have an anticipation greater than 
this ; yet I feel that I hold all this inspiring hope sub- 
ject to my Master’s will. I am going back to War- 
den to take up my work among my people and in 
my Church, and to prosecute it with all the strength 
and zeal of my body and soul. I will be open-hearted 
with Miss Bronson and her parents, and I will trust 
all issues with my Lord and Master.” 


392 As They Did It 

Having thus resolved, he went slowly back and 
entered his tent. 

There was nothing unusually noteworthy in the 
breaking-up of their tent-home, nor in their voyage 
to the Continent, nor in their journey to Warden. 
Mr. W elch was naturally sad at their departure ; 
but his heart was light from the assurance which his 
surgeon had given him, that he would be able, on the 
following Monday, to report at his regiment for duty. 

'T shall miss you more than I can tell,’' he said 
to Dunbarr and Bennett, as he was aiding them to 
break camp and pack their belongings; “hut I am 
to resume duty so soon now, and time will not 
drag. And, then, I am so thankful that I have formed 
your acquaintance. It is worth all that it has cost 
me, and much more besides. I 'm a better man than 
I was when you first met me,” he said to Dunbarr, 
as he took his hand at parting, ''and while I thank 
you for all you have done for me and been unto me, 
and should not presume to ask still more of you, 
yet I have the following request to make : When 
you are returned to Warden, do not, even in your 
thought, associate me with those whisky and beer- 
bloated fellows who were once my clients ; but think 
of me, rather, as one of 'Uncle Sam’s’ boys, ready and 
willing to do duty over here in Cuba ; and am I 
asking too much when I add, think of me as a very 
humble servant of the Christ? I very much desire 
to be his faithful follower.” 

"If you remember, Mr. Welch, when we first met, 
it was difficult for me to class you with the clients 
that you then represented. You are not of their 
class, although you were engaged in their behalf. 


Resuming Work 


393 


I recognized your talent then, and longed to see 
you more worthily employed. I recognize your nat- 
ural and acquired ability now, and, in that you have 
committed your ways to our Divine Master, I pre- 
dict for you one of the brightest and most useful 
careers. You will not be satisfied with a military life ; 
neither will you relish the life of a partisan politician. 
But the career of a Christian lawyer is one in which 
you may become pre-eminently useful ; and, Mr. 
Welch, this is one of the few commodities which is 
not overproduced in America. Why, I call to mind 
a certain city in my native land in which, if a Chris- 
tian lawyer would not be a novelty, yet he would be 
an individual to whom a unique sphere of usefulness 
is now open. There will come a time when you will 
quit military service, and when life on this island 
will become distasteful to you ; and then — unless your 
former location is strongly attractive — this question 
may arise with you, ‘Where shall I locate?’ Permit 
me to anticipate an answer to this possible question : 
Warden has need of you. Come to our city. Sit 
down with Robert and me under tent Bennett, for 
a few hours’ comfort and counsel ; and then go out, 
establish your office, and join your strength with the 
good people for municipal and moral reform.” 

“Thank you. Doctor; this suggestion may occur 
in practical form to me at some future time,” was 
the young lawyer-soldier’s reply; and then he was 
alone, for his two friends had departed. 

Upon reaching Warden, and after a few moments’ 
rest in his office with Bennett, Dunbarr went first 
to the home of his stanch friend. Dr. Beach. He 
found the dear old doctor quite indisposed. 


394 


As They Did It 

“Your return is a pleasure and a great relief to 
me, Doctor,” said Dr. Beach, as he arose from the 
couch on which he was reclining, and extended his 
hand to Dunbarr. “The fact is that I have carried 
this burden just as long as I can. If I were in my 
usual health and had my normal strength, I should 
be taxed to the limit of endurance, now that there 
is so much sickness in the city, to look after our pa- 
tients. But I am out of health, Dunbarr, and I 
never needed a man more than I need you. You 
may take off your coat, and make broad your shoul- 
ders, and go at it. I can make no visits until I am 
better.” 

'Tt pains me that you have been almost compelled 
to overtax yourself. Dr. Beach, and especially so be- 
cause the care of my patients has added appreciably 
to your burden. I will gladly relieve you as com- 
pletely as I am able to do. And I will begin now ; 
so direct me, please, while I make an outline of the 
work.” 

'‘How is Bennett?” interrupted the doctor, while 
Dunbarr was making a list of the patients. 

“He is recovering his general health rapidly; but 
his wound has not healed, and he has but little use 
of his leg.” 

“Can he visit me? I am eager to see the fellow 
once more. I did not intend that you should keep 
him so long, when you took him from me last Feb- 
ruary. But I can not complain ; for you have done 
better by him than I could have done. I could not 
have followed him to Cuba as you did. Undoubt- 
edly you saved his life. It would have been an out- 
rageous shame for him to die there. He is worth 


Resuming Work 


395 


a whole regiment of those Cubans, eh? Of course 
he is, and you think so, too, without doubt ; but you 
do not like to put it just that way, I see/' 

“No one prizes Bennett more highly than I do. 
Dr. Beach, but any and every Cuban is an immortal 
being of untold destiny, and one hesitates at mak- 
ing comparisons in such a matter." 

“Yes, certainly, each Cuban is a human being; 
but there is a difference in human beings — a very 
practical difference — and it is this difference which I 
have under consideration ; and I reaffirm that such a 
fellow as Bennett is worth a whole regiment of those 
benighted Cubans ; and it is intolerable prodigality 
to give life that is in every way valuable for the 
worthless life of such a people." 

Dunbarr smiled at the severe earnestness of the 
old doctor. He understood him well, knew that he 
was far more liberal-minded than his present utter- 
ances would indicate, and he put his reply aptly : 

“But, Doctor, had real, practical, relative worth 
been the only requisite for gracious favor," you and 
I would never have had a Divine Savior, would we ?" 

He eyed Dunbarr keenly for a moment, then 
looked away as if to some remote object, and an- 
swered : 

“You're right, young man; yes, you are right. 
Heaven did not act upon the basis of relative worth 
when it sent forth the Prince of Light to be our 
Savior." 

He hesitated a moment as if in deep thought, 
and then continued : “Life most noble, given for life 
most ignoble ; that is the rule that has gauged the 
conduct of our God. But we will complete the list 


396 


As They Did It 

of patients now; for, no doubt, you are becoming 
impatient to go. Call in when you can snatch a lit- 
tle leisure, and relate to me your recent observations 
and experiences. Bear in mind that you are to at- 
tend to my ride ; for I shall try to throw off all care 
and professional responsibility until I regain my nor- 
mal condition.” 

Dunbarr resumed his professional duties in War- 
den with zest, although he would have preferred a 
day or two of leisure to have “gathered himself up,” 
as Bennett put it. His former patients received him 
with undisguised pleasure, and none felt more joy 
at meeting him than did Thomas Wilson. He buried 
his face in his hands, and wept for joy when Dunbarr 
entered his home. When he could control his feel- 
ings sufficiently to speak, he exclaimed: 

“Kin Oi belave me vary oies? Is it me own doc- 
thor coom back to me from the far south Cuba?” 

Then he passed his hand over his eyes as if to 
make sure that he was not looking through mists, 
stared at the doctor's face for a moment, and then 
reached forth his hand to greet him, exclaiming: 
“It is him, sure ! Oi had give' oop the hope, nigh 
aboot, iver to sae yez wanst more at all !” 

“Niver moind his chile-weakness, Docthor, fur 
he 's been in so long toime, an' been lonesome so 
mooch, that he sames tender, loike,” added Mrs. 
Wilson. 

“It has been a long time since your leg was bro- 
ken, Mr. Wilson, and I am sure that you have been 
lonely.” 

“Och, and it 's roight that yez are, Docthor, — a 
long, long, wary toime — nigh aboot two months al- 


Resuming Work 397 

ready, an’ so orful, orful hot maenwhoilst ! An’ now 
Oi kin but jist set oop with me leg pillered in a 
chair. An’ Oi do n’t have the courage to dare troost 
mesilf on crootches, aven.” 

‘‘But it is a perfect recovery that you are making, 
Mr. Wilson. Your leg is straight and of normal 
length, and is only waiting for you to begin to make 
a moderate use of it.” 

“That ’s what the koind old docthor told to me 
the last toime he was haer. He said that he niver 
seen a truer mend nor has been made o’ that leg. 
But Tom is afaered to begin the use ov it. He 
faers that it will break agin.” 

“We will take it from the chair and place the 
foot upon the floor, letting it rest there for a time. 
There ; that ’s the idea. You need have no fear, Mr. 
Wilson. We want to get you out of here, now, as 
soon as may be. You think that you have had a 
hard time of it, and you have ; but you would never 
utter another complaining word if you could look 
for one hour upon the suffering of some of our 
wounded soldiers down in Cuba. I will call in and 
stir you up every day or two, till we get you out 
again. Good-bye, now.” 

When Dunbarr had gone, Wilson was silent for 
a time, and then spoke to his wife : 

“Oi war mooch plazed to sae oor docthor wanst 
ag’in, Mary ; an’ whoilst he done me a great good, 
yit he lift a sadness dape into me heart.” 

“An’ what is that sadness, Tom, an’ what the 
nade ov it?” 

“Do yez moind, Mary, that he said niver ’s the 
word aboot the Wan who loves poor, lost sinners?” 


398 


As They Did It 

“But why nade that make ye sad, Tom? Oor 
docthor is in mooch haste; fur he 's just returned yis- 
terday, an’ there ’s manny the thing fur him to 
look to.” 

“Yis, but, Mary, it samed that Oi could haer in 
his look these words, ‘We kin mend his bhroken 
leg, but he ’ll shtill be the same old, wake Tom Wil- 
son as afore. No nade to tell him any more, at all, 
aboot the Wan who saes the poor, lame prodigal, 
limpin’ along, thryin’ to coom back to his home ; 
fur he ’s not lookin’ fur Tom any more at all.’ Now, 
Mary, whoilst Oi, mesilf, fale that there ’s no more 
use to thry to brace Tom Wilson oop, yit it gives to 
me a dape sadness to think that he ’s not lookin’ 
any more fur me to coom back ag’in.” 

“But ye kint be sure ov that, Tom, an’ no use 
to worry. Jist ye thry to coom back to the Fa- 
ther’s house — jist thry rael hard, loike — an’ there ’ll 
be some wan to welcome ye, Tom. An’ if ye ’re now 
longin’ to go back, there ’s some wan lookin’ fur ye 
already.” 

“An’ how kin yez know all o’ that, Mary? 
Tell me.” 

“Do n’t they tache it that way to our Sunday- 
school ? An’ did n’t Dr. Burns say aboot the vary 
same words when he shpoke to us last Sunday afther- 
noon ? Did n’t he say that the sad work ov sin is 
to take all the thrue dasire fur good away from 
us, an’ that if we raelly an’ thruly dasired to be rael 
good, that the way was open afore us, an’ that all 
the blest in heaven an’ that all the truly good on the 
earth war ready an’ awaitin’ to hilp us? So jist kape 
yer honest longin’, Tom, an’ ye may shtill be sure 


Resuming Work 399 

that there ’s a Father’s house wid a door open, waitin’ 
fur ye to coom back.” 

In the evening of the second day after their re- 
turn, Dr. Burns visited Bennett and Dunbarr. His 
was more than a formal greeting. These two young 
men held places within his fatherly heart, and he met 
them as one receives his own sons ; for indeed, in 
the gospel, they were his sons. 

“Well, my sons,” he said, with evident emotion, 
“God has brought you back to me; and my heart 
is filled with gratitude to Him. And you have re- 
turned bearing the honor of soldiers — the honor of 
Christian soldiers — a greater honor than which there 
is none. Robert has his discharge from the army of 
his country ; but you both wear the uniform of the 
army of the Lord, and have come back to us to help 
fight the battles of his kingdom. Be assured that 
we welcome you back to Warden. Sorry to see you 
so thin, Robert. I can’t say, ‘thin and pale ;’ for 
Cuba’s climate has given you the complexion of her 
sable sons. But you will bleach with us, and your 
countenance will soon become as familiar as is the 
sound of your voice or the language of your eyes. 

“You, Doctor, resumed work several hours ago. 
I was aware that you were returning, but was not 
certain on what date you would arrive, and did not 
know that you had reached the city, until, by chance, 
I saw you with your horse and carriage passing the 
parsonage; and that familiar sight thrilled me with 
pleasure. Your horse, Joe, welcomed you, no doubt. 
He was nearly as lonely as were your many patients 
while you were absent. The young people of the 
Church are planning a reception for you, to be held 


400 


As They Did It 


in the near future, at which each of you will be ex- 
pected to speak to us of your observations in the 
Southland. Your many friends are impatient to 
meet you.’’ 

'‘He is the same dear, soulful pastor,” remarked 
Bennett, when Dr. Burns had gone. 

“Yes, with the same love and energy. But he 
looks weary, and we must insist upon his taking 
a vacation,” answered Dunbarr. 

Later in this same day, Dunbarr chanced to meet 
Marian Mills, who informed him that their friend, 
Gertrude Bronson, had, on the day prior to his re- 
turn, gone from Warden, “to be gone a long, long 
time,” as Marian phrased it, while her mirthful eyes 
searched the young doctor’s face. 

“Indeed, is that really so?” asked Dunbarr, while 
his eyes seemed searching for some distant object, 
and his face took on a disappointed, if not forlorn, 
expression. 

“Yes, sir, indeed,” answered Marian, still sharply 
eying him ; “she is to be gone a whole fortnight, or 
even longer — not to exceed three weeks. A very 
dear friend of hers, who resides in an adjoining State, 
is soon to be married, and she could not excuse Ger- 
trude’s absence from so important an event.” 

Dunbarr perceived that he had betrayed his dis- 
appointment to Marian, blushed deeply as he met 
her laughing eyes, and, a moment later, excused him- 
self. 

True to the resolve which he made on the night 
before he left Cuba, Dunbarr sought a private inter- 
view with Mr. Bronson. This gentleman had called 
upon Dunbarr and his friend soon after they re- 


Resuming Work 401 

turned, and had accorded them a hearty welcome 
home. 

This private interview to which we refer was 
mutually gratifying. Mr. Bronson spoke with the 
conciseness of a business man and with the frankness 
of a father. 

“Had you come to me as an empty-hearted world- 
ling, although you had been as logically eloquent 
as was Demosthenes, or as wealthy as are the Rocke- 
fellers, I should have opposed you with a determina- 
tion as intense and persistent as is my love for our 
daughter. But I have no reason nor desire to op- 
pose an industrious man, a man of principle, a man 
of deep and true convictions, a Christian man, when 
he asks my consent to win, if he can, the heart and 
hand of our only child ; and such a man you are. Dr. 
Dunbarr. I have seen you in the midst of circum- 
stances which try men’s souls ; and while we may 
not be able to foretell the result of your wooing,” 
he added, with a smile, “yet you have nothing to 
fear from me.” 

The month of August was hastening to its close ; 
and, with Dunbarr, the days were flying; for he was 
very busy. One morning, near the end of the month. 
Dr. Beach requested a visit from Dunbarr and Ben- 
nett. They found the doctor more feeble than they 
had ever seen him, and yet he was disposed to speak 
at length with them. He began by saying: 

“Well, boys, I am growing worse here, and have 
decided to go to a New England sanitarium, near 
the home of my boyhood, for a time. I am not sure 
that I shall be able to talk when I come back, or 
when they bring me back, whichever the case may 
26 


402 


As They Did It 

be. You are already attending my patients, and I 
wish that Bennett were able to keep my office open. 
But he is not far enough along in his course for that ; 
and then you need him, Dunbarr. But it is my de- 
sire, Bennett, and that in the near future, that you 
shall take my office. But my chiefest word to you 
will appear in the following: I have practiced medi- 
cine for full forty years, and I can not murmur at 
the success that I have attained. Yet I can see where 
I would make my career different, could I be placed 
back to the time in life whereat you are. I have be- 
lieved in and have practiced morality ; also, all of this 
time, I have been a nominal Christian, and, let us 
hope, in these later years, I have been more than 
nominally that. I have held one conviction, however, 
that I have not acted upon regularly and positively. 
It is this : There is no great use of treating a man’s 
body, if the man himself is not right. We patch up 
the body, and the unsound or impure man tears it 
down or makes it sick again. Or, we repair the body, 
and then the vicious man uses it to work iniquity in 
the service of Satan. In the one case it is child’s 
play — building a toy-house, to be torn down again 
the next hour. In the second place it is permitting 
our skill to conduce to the working forces of evil. 
Were I young again, I should act regularly and posi- 
tively on the theory that, ‘Except the Lord build the 
house, they labor in vain that build it.’ I would 
treat the body with all my skill, but I would seek 
diligently to become skillful to treat the higher life 
of man — that life which is so intimately associated 
with the body, and which has such controlling power 
over it. In cases where I could trace the trouble 


Resuming Work 


403 


of the body to a cause or to complex causes within 
the very man himself, I should fearlessly and faith- 
fully do so ; and in all cases where the cause could 
not be thus located, I should still urge upon my pa- 
tient the wisdom and justice of giving over all the 
powers of the body to a righteous service. In fine, 
young men, I should not discharge my patient, think- 
ing that I had completed my duty with him, until 
I had led him to see the wisdom of conforming wholly 
to the principles of life which the Christ taught and 
practiced. 

“As Bennett’s preceptor, I wished to add this to 
former lectures which I have given him ; and I 
wished to do so before my journey East. I am sure 
that this theory will have a place in your thoughts, 
and will influence your practice. One is favored, in- 
deed, when he may leave his unfinished work with 
two such young men.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


“At Our Very Best” 

“Fervent in spirit ; serving the Lord.” 

rELL, well! What new building is this, being 
^ ^ hastened to completion, as if a great fortune 
would be missed should not the structure be finished 
at the earliest possible date?’' asked Dr. Dunbarr of 
Walter Milford, a few days after the arrival of the 
former from Cuba. The two were driving together, 
and were at the corner of East Cedar Street and 
Genesee Avenue. Milford had asked to accompany 
the doctor this afternoon, as he was to drive a few 
miles into the country to attend the sick. He had 
missed Dunbarr greatly while he was absent from 
Warden, and he vied with others in a cordial welcome 
to him and to his friend, Bennett. 

''This building is to be deeded to a religious society 
which is to be organized and incorporated under the 
direction of your pastor. Dr. Burns, the First Church 
of Warden co-operating with him. It is to be a house 
of worship for the people who have become so genu- 
inely interested in the Sunday-school and other re- 
ligious services which you aided in organizing last 
spring,” was Milford’s reply. 

"But it is large, and, when completed, will be a 
costly building. Where can the money be obtained?” 
asked Dunbarr. 

404 


“At Our Very Best” 405 

“Why, there are many of our people interested in 
the enterprise,'’ replied Milford, with some hesitancy. 

Dunbarr turned and looked searchingly into his 
face for a moment, and then remarked, “And you 
are one of the number who are interested here, if 
I am not mistaken." 

“Yes; of late I have become interested in these 
people and in this new edifice. I can understand why 
you are surprised at the fact, when I remember my 
former worldly-mindedness." 

“My feeling is not wholly that of surprise, Mil- 
ford ; it is surprise, admiration, and pleasure. I ex- 
pected that you would manifest a positive Christian 
effort before very long ; but I did not anticipate that 
that effort would be directed toward an enterprise 
like this. And there are but few things in our world 
that are more admirable than talent and culture prac- 
tically engaged in Christian enterprises ; and the 
happy prospect of having such a commodious and 
modern building for our work here, together with 
the apparent promise of your life, now devoted to 
Christlike efforts, give me inexpressible pleasure." 

“But if you will consider a moment, you will see 
that you have reason to rebuke rather than to ap- 
plaud me. Here I have entered the second quarter- 
century of my life, and this is the first time that any 
one has been able to say, ‘Walter Milford is behav- 
ing like a consistent Christian’ — with emphasis on 
the ‘consistent.’ I am to be pitied for having begun 
life so late. But, Doctor, one of the objects I had 
in seeking your company this afternoon was to ob- 
tain the opportunity to tell you that I have a clearer 
view of what it is to be a Christian than I had that 


4o6 


As They Did It 

June afternoon when last we rode together. Some- 
thing new has come over and entered into my life 
since then, so that the will of my Master has become 
my real pleasure ; and I serve him because I love 
him. And with pleasure I turn away from those 
ways and those motives which he does not approve ; 
and this, too, because I love him.’' 

Dunbarr was listening eagerly, and tears of joy 
were in his soulful eyes when he replied : “That is 
the way of it, Milford — that 's the very way of it. 
Where God puts down his great law, he puts down 
beside it a greater fact, his love. O that all the world 
could know, Milford, what you and I have come to 
know within these last few months, that the love of 
God, as revealed in his living Son, our Savior, can 
make the life of man to rejoice in the law of God 
at all times.” 

Their carriage had been standing, these few min- 
unes, within the shade of a maple. The new build- 
ing was a few rods to their right, and the chapel was 
farther away, before them, and a little to their left. 
Just at this moment a large company of women is- 
sued from the chapel, and came leisurely down the 
walk toward the street. 

“Who are these, and what has been the object of 
their meeting?” asked Dunbarr. “O, I see! There 
are Mrs. Burton and Marian Mills on either side of 
Mrs. Sawyer, escorting her down the walk toward 
where her carriage is in waiting. And there are 
Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Campbell, and several others 
whom I know, all looking so happy and conversing 
so pleasantly. It is evident that their meeting has 
been of an agreeable character.” 


Our Very Best” 


407 

^^Yes; such a meeting has become a weekly oc- 
currence lately. Under the direction of the Loyal 
Daughters, all the women of this part of the city, who 
would naturally be interested in the new church- 
building, have united their efforts to provide articles 
to be sold to aid in paying for the church. At pres- 
ent, I understand, they are making many yards of 
rag carpet to be sold for that purpose." 

^‘Yes, yes; I see. Grand, is it not? I must speak 
to 'Auntie' Sawyer. I have n't met her since my re- 
turn and Dunbarr sprang from his carriage and ad- 
vanced rapidly to meet her. "I am very pleased to 
meet you, Mrs. Sawyer," he said, lifting his hat. 

The lady extended her hand in greeting, and re- 
plied ; 'T assure you that the pleasure is mutual. Dr. 
Dunbah. I have heard of youah safe retu’n and have 
thanked ouah Mastah foah it. Call at my home when 
you find leisure." 

Dunbarr thanked her, and then turned to speak 
with all the others whom he had known. 

"We have been working really hard this after- 
noon," said Marian, gayly, and in a clear voice, that 
was intended to reach Milford’s ears. "Have n’t had 
time to carriage-ride." 

Milford smiled, lifted his hat as he pronounced 
her name, and replied : "But sometimes one's mind 
may be practically employed, even while he carriage- 
rides, may it not. Miss Mills?" 

"O yes, surely ; and it is quite impossible for me 
to tell what may materialize as resulting from the 
activity of your fruitful minds while riding together 
this afternoon ; but we shall expect something as 
great as it is good." 


4o8 


As They Did It 


^‘We are pleased to know that your confidence 
in us does not waver,” added Dunbarr. 

“And at the same time we feel that to meet your 
expectation will put us at our very best,” said Mil- 
ford ; and the two then drove away. They rode in 
silence for a few rods, and then Milford spoke, as 
if thinking out loud. “Beautiful, beautiful indeed !” 

“What is so beautiful ?” asked Dunbarr. 

“A character like Mrs. Sawyer — a lady of high 
birth, finished education, large wealth, enviable his- 
tory — given to a Christlike service among these poor 
women upon whom fortune has frowned, against 
whom circumstances have combined, and concerning 
whom the Church has long been indifferent. Why, 
her classical brow, adorned by that wealth of snow- 
white hair, is as the visage of one of the saints. Her 
body feels so forcibly the effect of time that it is 
with difficulty that she can walk, even when aided 
by her kind friends ; and yet her spirit is so young 
that she rejoices in the companionship of these young 
and middle-aged women, of whom she is the nat- 
ural leader. I say. Doctor, that sort of thing is de- 
cidedly beautiful.” 

“I agree with you, Milford ; and to me it is an 
earnest of immortality. What matter if time can bur- 
den and weaken Mrs. Sawyer’s body? It meets its 
limit there. She has the heart of springtime, the 
spirit of perpetual youth. Eternity is on with 
'Auntie’ Sawyer, and Time may sound his gong in 
vain.” 

The reception intended for Bennett and Dun- 
barr was deferred about two weeks from the date 
of their return, Bennett had said to his pastor: “I 


‘‘At Our Very Best” 


409 


am weak yet, and not given to public speaking. 
Please let me have considerable time in which to 
rest and prepare myself.’’ 

The reception was held in the auditorium of the 
First Church of Warden, and the house was crowded 
with eager, expectant people long before the hour 
for beginning the service arrived. Gertrude Bron- 
son had returned to the city in the early afternoon 
of this same day, and was soon informed by the chor- 
ister that she would be expected to aid the choir in 
their effort to furnish music for the reception. 
Many of her friends, who had not learned of her re- 
turn, were surprised to see her with the choir when 
they came out and took their places a little above 
and to the left of the pulpit platform. Dunbarr, who 
sat with BenneU and many of the clergy of the city 
upon the platform, did not notice the choir particu- 
larly until they began to sing, and then, turning to- 
ward them, as if drawn by the charm of a familiar 
voice, his eyes met those of Miss Bronson, and, 
though she was singing a difficult measure at the 
time, she smiled and bowed slightly her recognition. 
Dunbarr acknowledged this courtesy in a manner 
that was satisfactory to her, yet perceived by few, 
if any, of the audience. He felt bewildered, how- 
ever, and thought, as the music continued : “At the 
moment when I would be at my very best, I am to 
appear in a role for which I have no aptness. Were 
I to diagnose a case, or set a broken bone, or am- 
putate a limb, I should be reasonably sure of suc- 
cess ; but here I can only state a few facts, and that 
in the most prosy manner. My speech shall have at 
least one virtue — that of brevity.” 


410 


As They Did It 

Dunbarr was the first to speak. Dr. Burns intro- 
duced him, stating that he, having made but a flying 
trip southward, would give his general impressions 
of the land, the people, and the army. This Dun- 
barr did in an unpretending way, yet in a manner 
creditable to himself, pleasing to the audience, and 
satisfactory to his friends. 

The choir sang again, and then Bennett was in- 
troduced. He appeared in uniform, and his mien 
was soldierly, and his face still showed the effect of 
the southland climate, and bore the traces of pain. 
He spoke principally of camp-life, and briefly of the 
battlefield and the hospital. 

“We lay in camp in the south of this continent 
many weeks,'' he said in the middle portion of his 
address ; “and when not at drill or otherwise on duty, 
I had social intercourse with hundreds of young men ; 
and while some of them were professed Christians, 
yet I found the great majority of them to be irre- 
ligious. In seeking the cause for this fact, I had 
many candid talks with scores of these young sol- 
diers. Time often grew heavy with us, and there 
often came pensive hours wherein we loathed the 
routine of camp-life, and longed for the liberty and 
variety of our former days. I took, as an oppor- 
tunity, such times to ascertain their reasons for ir- 
religion and to determine the attitude of their minds 
toward Christianity ; and, in the large majority of in- 
stances, I found a prejudice against the Church. The 
substance of their answers was so uniform that I 
may couch it fairly in the following: 'We do not be- 
lieve in the Church. It exists for selfish and proud 
ends, no matter though it does profess an opposite 


“At Our Very Best” 41 1 

object for its existence. It is for the pleasure, the 
entertainment of the rich. The choirs sing and the 
pulpits speak for them. That voice which from the 
pulpit dares point out their darling sins is soon 
hushed. That arm that is stretched out to touch 
their idol is soon palsied. That offering which they 
send forth to the needy poor is disgracefully meager 
when compared with the amount that is lavished upon 
themselves. And it is not money alone that is 
needed. Money is the smaller part of it. That which 
is most needed — a sympathetic heart, a loving life in 
operative fellowship — is withheld. ‘^An effort with 
me, rather than an effort for me,’’ is at par, ever and 
always, with the needy. This struggling world in- 
stinctively spurns the coin that is flung forth from 
the palm of him who gathers his sanctimonious robes 
about himself, and passes by on the other side.’ 

''Of course, I felt this arraignment to be very 
sweeping, and, in many cases, decidedly unjust. I 
thought and spoke often of our own dear Church, 
and wished that all the irreligious could witness the 
zeal and spirit with which and in which we do our 
pleasant mission. 

"But when I came to speak to my comrades of 
the Christ, I found a sentiment totally different. 
'Yes,’ was, in substance, their uniform answer, 'we 
like him. To be sure, his words are searching and 
severe, but they are for our good, and are prompted 
by love. His life is spotless in its purity, but it is 
not too much so to come right to where we are, and, 
at our very side, show us the way to something bet- 
ter. His infinite riches are at our disposal, if only 
we will make use of them for the betterment of our 


412 


As They Did It 


lives. If the Church which bears his name were not 
a persistent libel on his nature, we would hasten 
to its folds.’ 

“‘But would you, indeed?’ I urged. ‘Do you 
hasten to embrace the Christ? You respect him, 
you admire him, and, mayhap, reverence him ; but 
do you put your hand in his, and say, “Now, thou 
noble, blessed Christ, I will be led of thee in what 
way soever thou mayest will?”’ 

“Of course, the inconsistency of their conduct be- 
came apparent ; but I never left an interview like 
this that I have sketched without feeling the impor- 
tance of conduct which is consistent with the life 
and teachings of Christ on the part of every Chris- 
tian and of the Church generally. However to the 
contrary the world may think, yet the Church is 
the great means by which Christ is to be revealed to 
the world. Our conduct, consistent with Christ, is 
that by virtue of which the world shall first catch a 
glimpse of him. We are consistent with him when 
we are at our very best. We approximate our best 
when we are nearest like him.” 

Bennett then spoke of the Bible and of its effects 
upon the life of the soldier. “He may not have 
esteemed it highly,” said he, “or even may have 
ignored it while a civilian or in the first few weeks of 
his soldier-experiences; but, unless he is a hardened 
sinner, the Bible and its teachings soon become of 
particular interest to that soldier who expects, at any 
hour, to see service on the battlefield. Many young 
men who could not be attracted to the service of the 
Church of their native village or city will attend the 
religious service that is conducted by their chap- 


“At Our Very Best” 413 

lain, and will listen reverently to his simple expo- 
sition of the Scriptures.” 

He then related the incident of his comrade Luce, 
portraying the effect of the Bible upon his life ; and 
as he spoke, at length, of the sad lot of this young 
soldier and of his true love for the Bible at the time 
of his death, many in that large audience wept. 
“Here is the little book,” he said, with an emotion 
which he could not conceal, and he held aloft the little 
Bible, “that led my dead comrade to the very por- 
tal of eternal life. I can never forget the dear boy’s 
dying plea for it, ^Tell them to treat it fairly, to treat 
it fairly, as I have done.’ And, my dear friends,” 
Bennett continued, “when we remember that our 
comrade Luce is only one of the very, very many 
who have been led into the eternal kingdom by it, 
we can not wonder that the Bible has had so promi- 
nent a place in the history of our dear Nation. The 
only wonder is that our Nation does not show it 
greater honor, and that mankind to-day do not show 
it greater reverence.” 

When he had finished and the congregation had 
been dismissed, Gertrude Bronson came promptly out 
of the choir, and greeted Bennett. She took his 
hand passionately, and said, with an emotion which 
nearly choked her words, “Mr. Bennett, I can not 
tell you how glad I am to see you again and to hear 
you speak.” 

“Thank you. Miss Bronson. I assure you that 
my pleasure can not be expressed.” Then, follow- 
ing her eyes as they turned toward the stand whereon 
lay the Bible of her childhood, he anticipated her 
desire, and handed her the book. She folded her 


414 As They Did It 

white palms about it, carried it to her lips, and then 
pressed it to her heart while teardrops trembled upon 
her long lashes. 

'‘You want it back again? Well, you may have 
it. It is yours by right of first ownership, although 
it is a dear little book to me,” faltered Bennett. 

“O no, no ! I do not want it back again, Mr. Ben- 
nett ! It is yours ; by many, many rights ’t is yours ! 
But some way, child that I am, I wanted to caress it 
a bit, as in days of yore ; while, at the same time, 
I venerate it. O no, Mr. Bennett, I gladly leave it 
with you. It is yours ; and your work with it is not 
completed yet.'’ 

Dunbarr witnessed this greeting, but did not catch 
their words ; and he stepped to the farther side of the 
platform. When Gertrude gave back the Bible, she 
looked for Dunbarr, but, many having gathered upon 
the platform now, she did not see him instantly, and 
it was several minutes before she reached his side. 

“How delightful it is to have you back again !” 
she remarked as she extended her hand. “It seems 
that you have been away a long, long time. You 
have seen so very much that is new, and can tell 
us of many matters of interest. But I must not 
monopolize you now. There are so many others who 
wish to speak with you to-night. Yes; here comes 
Marian to greet you. But, doubtless, she has inter- 
viewed you ere this ; for you have been home more 
than two weeks, all of which time I have been out 
of the city. In view of this fact, and also on the 
plea of old-time friendship, I shall claim a visit from 
you at your earliest convenience.” 

“I promise you. Miss Bronson, that it shall be as 


“At Our Very Best” 415 

you desire as nearly as it is in my power to con- 
trol circumstances,” replied Dunbarr. 

''And now, by virtue of the fact that I have been 
with you two young people on other marked occa- 
sions, I shall claim the right to be present when 
the doctor redeems this promise, and listen to his ac- 
count of the many new features of interest,” said 
Marian, while her mirthful eyes searched their faces. 

"You are always welcome, dear Marian; but I 
must see you every day for a whole week, now that 
we have been separated so long,” returned Miss 
Bronson. 

"Certainly, Gertrude; and I can fix my date 
promptly,” she added, with a shy glance at Dunbarr, 
who caught her eye, and blushed perceptibly ; "to- 
morrow afternoon is the time, and your own cozy 
room is the place.” 

Before they had ended their visit on this specified 
afternoon, Marian had told Gertrude of her first visit 
with Dunbarr after his return from the South. "Why, 
when I mentioned the fact that you were out of 
town, and would remain away for a long, long time,” 
she had said, "he looked as if all his friends had 
departed forever, and that they had taken every 
vestige of hope with them. And when I added, 'Yes, 
sir, she will be gone two weeks,’ and he looked up 
and saw the mischief in my face, he blushed and 
looked as if he wished to punish me. Then he ex- 
cused himself, and got out of my presence speedily, 
while his face expressed the thought, 'You see too 
much. Miss Mills. I do not thank you for extort- 
ing from me that which I withhold from one who 
has the best right to know.’ Why, Gertrude, that you 


4i6 As They Did It 

are more than all the world to him is perfectly ap- 
parent to me/' 

''I fear that you are visionary, Marian ; but if you 
are correct in your conclusions, I shall find it out 
one day, and I shall find it out from him. He must 
be taught the impropriety of revealing himself to 
others while he conceals himself from me, who has 
the chiefest right to know." 

“Why, Gertrude dear, I am just as sure of Dr. 
Dunbarr’s fate at your hands as I can be that both 
of you shall live !" 

“How can you be, Marian? How can you know 
what I will answer him, if he ever speaks?" 

“Why, if I could not see your dear, true heart 
shining right through your beautiful face, I could 
know it from the fact that you are so blind. You 
seem to fail utterly to see and to interpret him." 

“Well, Marian dear, if it is right and best, my 
eyes shall be opened by and by, and I shall see and 
interpret more clearly and accurately then than can 
you. You and I, dear girl, in trusting all else to our 
Master, have not failed to trust this very vital matter 
of our future to his will and management ; and no 
trust imposed in him can be amiss ;" and Gertrude's 
eyes were once more scanning her favorite picture. 

“I know where your eyes are resting fondest, 
Gertrude," said Marian, rising and approaching the 
picture. “It is just at this line, where springtime 
passes into summer and hope has its fulfillment." 


i 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


Answered 

** Commit thy way unto the Lord ; trust also in him ; and he shall 
bring it to pass.” 

'TA UN BARR, for once, controlled circumstances, 
or else was favored by them ; for it was not 
long before he availed himself of a visit with Miss 
Bronson. The pretext of this visit may have been 
to speak somewhat of his Southern trip; but his 
true and well-determined object was to speak of that 
which is as old as the family of mankind — man's 
true love of woman — and yet, to do so, would be 
for him to utter words entirely new to him, and to 
voice a sentiment that had never fallen from the lips 
of man upon the ear of Gertrude Bronson. It was 
one of those afternoons in early September when 
summer, bent on still holding her control, asserts 
her rights by characteristic temperature, loveliness 
of scenery, and dreamy .quietude. They had gone 
to a rustic seat under a maple, at the border of the 
lawn at Gertrude's home. Dunbarr had ended his 
rather brief account of his experiences in the South 
by saying: “I hailed with much delight the moment 
wherein I could turn my course northward and home- 
ward. No hour of the day had passed since our 
parting at the depot last July, Miss Bronson, in 
which I had not heard your farewell words nor failed 
27 417 


4i8 


As They Did It 


to see, again and again, your perplexed face as then 
it appeared. I had become convinced that, to some 
extent, I had misunderstood you ; and I was con- 
scious that I had made no effort that would enable 
you to understand me, if you cared to. I could not 
see a good reason why young people, associated as 
we are, may not understand each other in matters 
so vital to their future happiness ; and I resolved, 
the last night that I was upon the island of Cuba, 
that if I were permitted to see you again I should 
do my part toward the removal of all uncertainties. 
Quite soon after my return I sought your father 
and spoke to him of my regard for his daughter. 
You have the assurance that he received me favor- 
ably, else I could not speak to you with the unre- 
stricted liberty which I feel this afternoon.’’ 

“Papa had no right to give you the least en- 
couragement in this matter,” interrupted Gertrude, 
not trusting herself to look up. She had utterly 
mutilated a maple-leaf with the top of her umbrella, 
and was now concluding its interment in the earth 
at her feet. 

“Neither did he, as regards your disposition of 
the matter,” returned Dunbarr; “but, rather, he 
augmented my fearful apprehensions by saying to 
me, ‘While I may not be able to foretell the re- 
sult of your wooing, yet you have nothing to fear 
from me.” 

At this, could Dunbarr have known it, a smile 
played, for an instant, in Gertrude’s downcast, happy 
eyes. 

“For years, even when I was a stranger, strug- 
gling for an industrial foothold in this city, I es- 


Answered 


419 


teemed you, next to my mother, above all other 
women; and I was wont to cheer my sometimes 
lonely life by thinking, 'There ’ll come a time some 
day when I will be able to tell her the story of my 
love.’ But as the months have flown I have re- 
mained silent ; sometimes feeling that it were mad 
presumption for me to speak ; sometimes feeling that 
it were utterly hopeless because your love had been 
given to another ; and sometimes feeling that I were 
bound, by the friendship that I had pledged to a 
fellow-man, not to speak to you.” 

He then told her of his feeling at the time when 
he witnessed her parting from Bennett when he, as 
a volunteer, left Warden, and how he had striven 
to remain true to his absent friend. "But, of late,” 
said he, "I am convinced that I have reasoned from 
an incorrect hypothesis, and have therefore reached 
erroneous conclusions ; yet it remains true that I have 
suffered while I have kept silent.” 

"You should have spoken earlier,” remarked Ger- 
trude, deliberately. "And you surely will not ex- 
pect me to speak now and here of this matter which 
you have been silently considering all these years.” 

"Have your own time in this matter. Miss Bron- 
son. I can wait, now that I have spoken even the 
little of the very much that I have to say and hoped 
to say to you. But you will not compel me to wait 
very, very long, please ; for though I have spoken, 
I perceive that all uncertainty has not been removed. 
My watch informs me that at this very minute I 
have an important office engagement. I am sorry; 
I wish to remain longer. When may we meet 
again?” and he arose to depart. 


420 


As They Did It 


“I do not threaten to keep you waiting Very, very 
long/ You may appoint our next meeting. I am 
thankful for this visit. I wish that you did not need 
to go now, but doctors must keep their engage- 
ments.^’ 

They were walking toward the house now, and 
Gertrude went on down the walk toward the street 
with him. 

^'You are kind to accompany me to the street.” 

‘Tt was selfishness, rather, that prompted me,” 
answered Gertrude, as she proffered a parting hand. 
'^Does not selfishness prompt us quite as often as 
does kindness?” 

Their eyes met for a moment now ; but Gertrude, 
not caring to trust herself longer, remarked, as she 
smiled honestly, “I will permit you to go now; for 
I fear that you will forfeit the name of being the 
most prompt physician in our city.” 

She did not go directly into the house, but walked 
slowly across the lawn to the rustic seat under the 
maple. Dunbarr, as he turned the corner of the 
street, noticed this and said to himself : “If my des- 
tiny is not already fixed, it will be settled under that 
maple this very evening. But I may not know the 
decision soon ; and in the meantime I am more at 
sea than ever.” 

“I am glad that it ever occurred to Dr. Dunbarr 
and Mr. Milford that you and I would enjoy a car- 
riage-ride into the country,” remarked Marian Mills 
to Gertrude, several days after the event just re- 
corded. “Dr. Dunbarr is learning that it is possible 
to combine business and pleasure. Mr. Milford says 
that the country across which he is to drive to see 


Answered 


421 


a patient this afternoon is delightful, and especially 
at this season. I did not ask in which direction our 
route lies, but it is quite likely that we have been 
over it many times ; yet such good company will 
make it all novel enough, do n’t you think, Ger- 
trude?” 

'‘But I like to go over ways that I have known be- 
fore, and look again upon scenery,” answered Ger- 
trude ; “and it will be pleasant to go together.” 

“The dear little lady is evasive to-day,” thought 
Marian. “Now that she is on her guard, it may be 
more difficult to read her.” 

The' ride that these four young people took on 
the afternoon of the 15th of September met their 
highest expectation in every particular. Nature, 
though yielding perceptibly to the force of the ad- 
vancing season, was doing so with matchless grace 
and inimitable beauty. Farm-homes gave evidence 
of a genuine independence, made possible by the 
abundance of the early and later harvests. And 
the clear, pure air, which bore with equal zest the 
call of the quail, the chatter of the squirrel in the 
woodland, and the merry voices of the happy chil- 
dren of the “district” school, caused their blood to 
abound with richest oxygen. 

“There is nothing under the sun, except an idiom 
of my schoolgirl days, that will begin to convey any- 
thing like an adequate idea of all this,” exclaimed 
Marian ; “and so, with greatest emphasis, I must ut- 
ter it, 'Perfectly delightful !’ ” 

“Here we are nearing the woodland where we 
four were last May,” said Milford, as they were re- 
turning to the city after the doctor had finished his 


422 


As They Did It 


call. “We have made good time, and what to hin- 
der our stopping here, and, for the sake of variety, 
taking a little stroll?’’ 

“A romantic idea,” answered Gertrude; “and I 
second the suggestion.” 

“There is little left us but gracefully to succumb. 
Doctor,” said Marian; “for Gertrude and Mr. Mil- 
ford seem to be in the majority to-day.” 

“And I am sure that we can do this 'gracefully,’ 
inasmuch as it fully complies with our own desires,” 
returned Dunbarr. 

“Which way shall we go ?” asked Dunbarr, when 
the horses were securely tied. 

“I prefer to go down toward the ravine,” an- 
swered Miss Bronson. 

“Quite like you, Gertrude,” said Marian. “Now, 
I wish to go to the top of that little knoll yonder.” 

“This is all quite as it may be,” remarked Mil- 
ford. “We may divide our little company for a few 
minutes, reconnoiter quite generally, and when we 
reunite we can compare notes. Two companies can 
canvass more territory than can one, and Miss Mills 
and I will make one of these companies, if she 
pleases.” 

“Certainly, Mr. Milford, and let us hasten ; for 
I am sure that the view from the top of that little 
hill is very pretty at this hour of the day.” 

“I wish to go to that old stump which was, I 
think, the home of the blue-birds last spring,” re- 
marked Gertrude, when she and Dunbarr were alone. 
“I think those are bluebirds in the dead top of that 
tree yonder. Yes; hear them as they fly, one by 
one. But it is their good-bye song, or call, that 


Answered 


423 


they are uttering — a call so common with them at 
this time of the year. It tells us that they are nearly 
ready to go away from us to remain till next spring. 
I propose to look into the top of this stump now, 
without repeating my stupidity of last May. No, 
thank you. I wish to do so unaided, please. This 
little tree has life enough to support me, and by its 
aid I can reach the stump. There, I did accomplish it 
without falling. But I wish to go down into the ravine 
now. That stump was once the home of the bluebirds, 
I am very sure ; but they have left it for the season. 
Let’s see: O yes! here is the winding path. Just 
wide enough for one. I will precede you into the 
valley. Doctor.” And she tripped down the steep 
grade before him. ‘b\bout where did I alight last 
May, and which one of these is the tree against which 
I leaned? O yes; this is the one, is it? Thank you. 
But I do not care to remain here longer. You may 
lead the way up this narrow path, if you please.” 

When he reached the top he was several feet in 
advance, and he turned and offered her his hand to 
aid her to climb the last step or two ; for the ascent 
here was quite abrupt. 

'‘Thank you,” said she. "One may take a prof- 
fered helping hand at times, although she is able 
to climb life’s pathway alone. But how grateful I 
am that this large rock is here to afford me a place 
to sit for a moment ! I am nearly out of breath.” 

"And this smaller rock suggests that I may sit 
at your feet, for this same moment,” added Dunbarr. 
"And may not the entire situation intimate the pro- 
priety of my receiving your answer now. Miss Bron- 
son? Yet I almost fear to receive it, for it seems 


424 


As They Did It 


that it has been coming to me, bit by bit, in the 
good-bye song of the bird, and the path too narrow 
for two, and in that you can make your own way 
without my aid. But I wish, please, a direct answer 
from you ; I might mistake the full import of an im- 
plied answer. I must abide my lot, whatever may 
be your decision.’' 

‘‘Dr. Dunbarr,” answered Gertrude, as she looked 
him fairly in the face, “if you will critically review 
your language, you will readily perceive that I have 
nothing to answer you ; for, really, you have asked 
nothing of me.” 

Dunbarr looked away to the ravine beneath them, 
as if some strong attraction had suddenly sprung up 
there, and he was silent for a time. Then he turned 
to her, sat erect with his arms folded upon his chest, 
looked fully into her face, and replied : “Miss Bron- 
son, you are correct. My words have made no re- 
quest, however much my heart may have asked. But 
listen now and I will surely speak.” 

She did listen ; and when he had concluded, the 
most exacting could not have asked a more com- 
plete avowal of love nor a plainer putting of a posi- 
tive request. 

“Listen,” said she, looking upward. “Do you hear 
that bluebird from this treetop so near us?” 

“I do,” he answered. 

“Well, that song, which we are seldom favored 
with at this time of the year, is the very spirit of 
springtime. There is no good-bye in that sweet 
song — none whatever.” 

“Is this my answer, then?” asked Dunbarr, 
eagerly. 


Answered 


425 


She looked at him and answered, ‘‘Yes, Harmon; 
please our Master, our hearts shall never be sepa- 
rated/' 

At this moment the sun, but yet a hand’s-breadth 
above the western hill, broke through an opening 
in the wood, and fell with crowning glory upon them. 

“See !" spoke Dunbarr, breaking the somewhat 
prolonged silence; “the King of Nature, just before 
his departing, gives us his benediction; and Heaven, 
before whose eyes our lives are open, smiles upon us." 

When the four young people met at the carriage, 
Marian remarked : “We have had this stroll for the 
sake of a variety in our afternoon’s program, as Mr. 
Milford suggested. Shall we take our former po- 
sitions in the carriage, or do we wish a further va- 
riety ?" 

“I am possessed of a desire to learn to drive 
well," answered Gertrude; “and with Dr. Dunbarr ’s 
permission, I will sit with him and take a lesson in 
handling reins." 

“Another ‘romantic idea,’ Miss Bronson," said 
Milford, mirthfully. 

“Yes, indeed; but it leaves Mr. Milford and my- 
self without an alternative ; and you are not- wont 
to treat us after that sort, Gertrude," added Marian. 

“I confess to a lack of my former courtesy, and 
I accord you sympathy; but the drive home will be 
short," answered Gertrude ; and soon they were mov- 
ing briskly toward the city. 

“We are making slow advancement in the com- 
parison of notes," suggested Marian, while her face 
bore a far-away expression ; “but I anticipated as 
much when Gertrude took the reins." 


426 


As They Did It 


Late in the evening of the same day, Gertrude 
sat with her parents in their home. The mother was 
engaged with some embroidery, the father read, and 
Gertrude played and sang softly some of the old 
familiar songs. She was in the right mood for these. 
At the conclusion of one of her favorites, she be- 
came aware that her father had stopped reading and 
was listening to her, and presently he remarked: 

like the songs that you choose to-night, Ger- 
trude. I presume that they accord with your feel- 
ings ; and, if so, you are peaceful as well as thought- 
ful." 

^‘Thank you, papa; but I am through with music 
now, and wish to talk with you and mamma." 

'T inferred that you had something to tell us, 
and we are ever ready to listen to you," and Mr. 
Bronson smiled kindly upon his daughter. 

The natural embarrassment with which she be- 
gan to speak of herself and Dunbarr soon passed 
away, and she spoke to her parents with the unre- 
strained simplicity in which, years prior to this, she 
had spoken of her childish cares and pleasures, only 
omitting to tell them that she had answered Dun- 
barr. 

‘‘Months ago, Gertrude," answered her father, 
“your mother and I became aware of how matters 
were likely to go with you two young people, and 
I, as is the duty of a father to his child, made care- 
ful investigation as to the antecedents and history 
of Dr. Dunbarr. I found that his parents — now both 
deceased — were of the best families of the East, and 
were highly respected and enterprising citizens. I 
also found that Dunbarr’s record, while at college 


Answered 


427 


and during his medical course, was of the best; and 
I have been quite conversant with his career since 
he came to our city, and I am free to say that he 
is a noble and worthy young man/^ 

have watched you, papa, when Dr. Dunbarr 
has been in your presence, and your manner to- 
ward him has ever said that which your lips have 
just uttered, ‘He is a noble and worthy man.’ Had 
not your treatment of him spoken thus to me, I 
might not have become fond of him. I think that 
I could never love a man who could not win the 
high esteem of my father.” 

“Your father’s investigations revealed also an- 
other important consideration which he has omitted 
to mention ; a consideration which will, I think, ade- 
quately offset any objectionable peculiarity which the 
young doctor may chance to possess : his parents 
left him a large and valuable estate, which, since he 
left college and finished his medical course, he has 
been proud to leave intact, choosing rather to rely 
upon his profession for maintenance,” remarked Mrs. 
Bronson, with animation. 

Mr. Bronson understood his daughter’s reproach- 
ful look, and remarked : “ I came upon this fact un- 
wittingly. Believe me, Gertrude, I had no intention 
of measuring Dr. Dunbarr by the dollar rule.” 

“Thank you, papa ; you and I differ from dear 
mamma just a little at this point. But I am glad 
that I did not know it. I am so glad that I promised 
to be the wife of — as I supposed — a poor young 
physician. In all this time I have committed this 
matter to my Divine Master, and I do not doubt 
that he has directed my steps.” 


428 


As They Did It 


Robert Bennett, now recovering the use of his 
leg quite rapidly, spent not a few hours of his en- 
forced leisure in the company of his pastor. At 
the close of one of their pleasant interviews. Dr. 
Burns remarked: '‘Mr. Bennett, I am impressed that 
you will make a mistake if you devote your life to 
the study and practice of medicine. I think I see, 
in your mental and spiritual composition, that which, 
if encouraged by a proper course of training, will 
adapt you to a successful career as a minister of 
the gospel. You see the great need of this sin- 
blighted world. You see in the Son of God an all- 
sufficient Savior. You see, quite clearly, the way by 
which sinful man may avail himself of this Savior; 
and the prevailing desire of your life seems to be 
to lead mankind to him who is able to take away 
the sin of this world. Moreover, you possess more 
than an average aptness to teach truths that are vital 
to salvation. These qualities, I admit, may be 
brought beautifully into use by the Christian phy- 
sician ; but, I think, they can not be brought into 
their fullest and most effectual employ in his pro- 
fession.’’ 

“Dr. Burns, I feel that your appreciative heart 
overestimates me. During my entire course at col- 
lege my heart has been set on medicine ; yet at times, 
I admit, I have thought of the ministry. At such 
times I have felt that if I could be favored of God 
with a power to prevail with men — a marked ability 
to lead many to break off their sins by righteous- 
ness — I should, with happy willingness, devote my 
life to this calling. But, then, I have thought of the 
many barriers in the way of a consecrated ministry — 


Answered 


429 


the very much that tempts to worldly-mindedness ; 
the inducements to become popular with the world, 
to truckle to the tastes of a rich and fashionable 
Church, to tolerate iniquity, especially if it dons 
the cloak of righteousness and rents a costly pew; 
and I have dismissed the thought, for the time, by 
saying, I am not equal to such an undertaking. 
Christ is my ideal minister; and I have asked. How 
many pulpits in our land would employ him for 
even one year? How many Churches would call 
him at all? His pulpit manners or his dress might 
not please, much less would his doctrine. Why, Dr. 
Burns, I heard, a few days ago, of a Church that 
refused to call a minister because his complexion 
was not compatible with the upholstery of the pulpit. 
Another was turned aside because he did not stand 
as many inches high, or weigh as many pounds avoir- 
dupois, as did their former pastor. Another faithful 
minister was notified by his wealthy parishioners that 
he was not wanted longer because he spoke against 
the ungodly ways of making money. I understand 
that you know all about this. Dr. Burns, and that you 
have power to surmount all hindrances ; but where 
you succeed, hundreds would fail.’^ 

appreciate your view of the situation, Mr. Ben- 
nett, and I admit that there are many evils to be 
controverted ; but I see, to-day, in the Christian min- 
istry, an opportunity to do the most heroic as well 
as the most blessed service that ever engaged men 
of profoundest culture, men of the strongest nerve, 
of the firmest will, and of the deepest, truest heart. 
Greater demands are made, to-day, of men of the 
ministry than of any other class or calling ; and I do 


430 


As They Did It 


not wonder that young men tremble as they knock 
at the door of such a calling. Yet we must remember 
that the work is the Lord's. It has been, and, I 
think, ever will be, his order to save mankind by the 
foolishness of preaching. It is his plan, I say, and 
he will maintain his faithful servants. I do not doubt 
that you will think yet more earnestly of this matter. 
You have committed your ways unto the Lord; trust 
also in him, and he will bring it to pass." 


CHAPTER XXIX 


Realized 

“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my 
help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.” 

^T^HERE were several important cases which were 
^ tried in the September term of the Circuit 
Court, but none awakened so general an interest in 
Warden as did that of The People against Bill 
Graves, the saloonist. The fact that this case had 
been tried in the previous June, and had resulted 
in a disagreement of the jury, made the matter of 
securing acceptable jurors a question which con- 
sumed a considerable portion of the time ; and when 
at length twelve men were agreed upon, there began 
the most stubbornly-contested suit that this court 
had entertained for many a term. The liquor-men 
were there with their bold influence and their abun- 
dance of money, represented by the best legal talent 
that they could secure. The Anti-saloon League and 
the stanch temperance people of the community were 
present, brave and hopeful, assured that, in the long 
run, right would win. The people were fortunate in 
their prosecutor. He was eminent as a lawyer and 
as a man of moral strength and beauty, and his skill 
and nobility had never been more apparent or force- 
ful than it was during this trial. He, unaided, would 
have mastered the situation ; but, lest there should be 
some lack of legal knowledge or experience, the 
431 


432 


As They Did It 


temperance people had scured from another city an 
able attorney to aid him. 

must win this time,” said Deacon Holcomb 
as he addressed his Anti-saloon League the night 
before this case was called. “It is victory now, or 
else a defeat which will react sadly against aggressive 
temperance effort.” 

And this, evidently, was the prevailing sentiment. 
The blow must be a heavy one, upon which ever side 
it fell ; and the cause of temperance received greater 
encouragement than it had ever before experienced in 
Warden, when, after one-half hour’s absence from 
the court-room the jury filed back to their places, 
and, in answer to the question from the court, “Gen- 
tlemen, have you reached a decision?” the foreman 
said, “We have, your Honor; our verdict is, ‘Guilty 
as charged.’ ” 

Another decision, given in this term of court, gave 
strength to the cause of temperance. It was that 
rendered against Druggist Truman for selling alco- 
hol to be used as a beverage. He was charged with 
having done so on the fourth day of the previous 
July. His trial made it obvious that a druggist who 
violates the law that is intended to govern the sale 
of alcohol and spirituous liquors can not elicit the 
general and deep sympathy of the saloonists and liq- 
uor element of a community. Neither do the tem- 
perance people hold him in equal esteem with the 
saloon-keeper who pays for a license to sell intoxi- 
cating drinks. Therefore, while his conviction was 
rejoiced in as a victory for their cause by the temper- 
ance people of Warden, it also gave some satisfaction 
to those who sympathized with the open saloon. 


Realized 


433 


All other liquor cases were carried over to the 
December term. This, in great measure, was due to 
an adroit effort on the part of the liquor-men. This 
effort was prompted by the hope of a further ad- 
journment, and of securing a new prosecutor at the 
November election. 

September sped gracefully on and away, and Oc- 
tober, more gorgeously arrayed, yet of sterner mien, 
hastened to that date toward which so many minds 
in Warden were looking with pleasant anticipation ; 
and when the fifteenth day of this month dawned, its 
azure sky canopied and its soft light fell upon a little 
building at the corner of Genesee Avenue and East 
Cedar Street, completed and thoroughly furnished, 
waiting to be formally set apart as a sanctuary. 

“We will seek to have the service simple and 
natural as well as appropriate,’’ the committee had 
said. “Dr. Burns shall have charge, and we will 
invite a few of the neighboring pastors of the city 
to assist him. Other than these, we will have no 
guests, except such as shall come in response to a 
general invitation.” 

Some special effort had been made to encourage 
the attendance of all the poor and the laboring classes 
who lived within the vicinity of the building ; and the 
service was held in the evening, better to accommo- 
date these. After a few minutes of song and prayer, 
a short address was given by one of the visiting pas- 
tors, expressive of the sympathy that the sister de- 
nominations had for this new enterprise, and assuring 
the people that they merited and received the ap- 
proval and congratulations of the many Churches 
of the city. 

28 


434 


As They Did It 


The chairman of the Building Committee then 
addressed the audience. His report, which set forth 
the entire cost of the completed edifice, together with 
its furnishings and grounds, was concluded by the 
following gratifying and assuring statement : “And 
I am able to state that this entire amount has been 
provided, and that there remain a few dollars in our 
treasury. A considerable portion of this money’' — 
naming the exact amount — “has been given by the 
so-called laboring people of this community. Since 
the beginning of this enterprise, the old and the 
young have saved a portion of their earnings for this 
purpose. Some, I am sure, have deprived them- 
selves of some o( the comforts of life that they might 
help -to build this house. Many of the wealthy resi- 
dents of this community have given generously. And 
yet all of these contributions would have fallen far 
below the cost of this property, and we should have 
found ourselves seriously in debt to-night, were it 
not that some friend, whose modesty has succeeded 
in keeping his name from me even, has, through our 
pastor as his agent, written his check to cover all 
deficits. Therefore, through the combined liberality 
of the people of this community and of this their 
friend, we are able to dedicate this house free from 
debt.” 

With what eager pleasure the pjeople entered into 
the dedicatory service ! Especially was this true with 
the laboring class. “Were you not impressed with 
their complacent participation ?” asked Gertrude 
Bronson of Dr. Dunbarr, as they were returning 
from the dedication of the new church. 

“Yes, indeed; I happened to sit where I could see 


Realized 


435 


several familiar faces — one was that of Thomas Wil- 
son — and each countenance seemed to express wor- 
shipful joy. At first Wilson seemed a little puzzled 
with the responsive service; but soon he compre- 
hended that he might bear a part, and at each re- 
currence of the sentence, ‘We dedicate this house,’ 
he turned his face as if looking upward, closed his 
eyes, and seemed to put his very soul into the ex- 
pression, ‘We dedicate this house.’ This is a new 
and a valuable experience to this people. One who 
has not known them for years can not appreciate the 
reformation that is going on among them.” 

On the way home from service, Thomas Wilson 
and family began to exchange their ideas of the 
‘matin,’ as Wilson termed it. For the past ten days 
he had been induced to practice with his cane in order 
that he might be able to walk to this meeting. 

“I wondered what they was buildin’ them two nice 
rooms fur on the west part. I went in an’ seen them 
a number of times. An’ now Dr. Burns says, to- 
night, as he had them great doors opened, ‘These 
two rooms are fitted fur day-school an’ night-school 
purposes. School will open here next Monday after- 
noon. There will be an afternoon an’ an evenin’ 
session, five days in every week, until next spring.’ 
An’ what did he mean when he said, ‘Competent 
teachers had been engaged?’ I wonder what kind 
competent is.” 

“Och, Willie ! do n’t yez know what koind that 
maens yit? Them is the tachers that can tache yez 
all roight,” explained Wilson. “An’ Oi think that yez 
may go to the noight-schools to larn as much as iver 
yez kin.” 


4-36 


As They Did It 


'‘Yis; an’ Oi think that Oi ’ll jist shtep into the 
afthernoon schools to haer them tache an’ to larn 
soom mesilf. An’ Oi thinks, Tom, that it moight be 
well fur ye to take soom shmall part in the noight- 
schools yesilf,” added Mrs. Wilson. 

''Well, well, well!” ejaculated Mrs. Stevens, on 
her way home from the dedication, in company with 
Mrs. Burton. "The whole thing is so tantalizingly 
absurd! I prolonged my visit East until the very 
last of September, hoping that Warden would out- 
grow such nonsense. I attended that meeting out of 
curiosity, and thinking, also, that it were better to 
witness the procedure than to take it secondhanded. 
It is an unmitigated waste of thousands of dollars ! 
And it is for whom? For none but this raff of fac- 
tory-hands and day-laborers ! Surely none of the 
First Church of Warden have any use for it. And 
think of holding a day-school in apartments which 
are under the same roof with a church auditorium ! 
A school for the instruction of the poor women — 
both young and middle-aged — in matters of books 
and various other things! That idea was born of 
that hairbrained society, called the Loyal Daughters, 
I ’ll venture. A night-school for factory-boys and 
men and all other poor fellows that have been, and 
still are, too shiftless to avail themselves of the ad- 
vantages of our common schools and colleges ! I 
wonder where that idea originated. It would cer- 
tainly seem that Dr. Burns is too old for such an 
eccentricity. And yet I am not sure about it. One 
dare not be certain about anything pertaining to the 
First Church of Warden nowadays.” 

"Really, Mrs. Stevens,” returned Mrs. Burton, "I 


Realized 


437 


am unable to sympathize with your discomfiture over 
this matter; but, on the contrary, I am able to trace 
a beautiful trend of appropriateness in this whole 
enterprise/’ 

It may here be stated that when, a few days after 
the dedication, Mrs. Stevens learned that Walter Mil- 
ford had volunteered to superintend the school at the 
new church, she experienced supreme consternation. 
She sat with bowed head and clinched hands, and 
exclaimed : “Think of it ! think of it ! The very being 
that I had designated to restrain such mad folly has 
now become a leader of it! Well, could they gain 
Gabriel’s sanction and co-operation, I could not be 
more surprised; neither could this persuade me.” 

The Anti-saloon League of Warden and the tem- 
perance forces of the county united their energies to 
secure one object in the November election — that of 
re-electing James Fillmore to the office of prosecut- 
ing attorney. The opposition had nominated for this 
office a brilliant but unscrupulous man ; and the tem- 
perance people understood that their cause could 
expect virtually nothing at his hand, should he be 
chosen. 

“We have this year, in this county, witnessed the 
greatest temperance victory in our history,” said 
Dr. Burns in an address before the Anti-saloon 
League, early in the fall campaign. “There are a 
number of reasons which account for this fact; and 
not the least among these reasons is, that Mr. Fill- 
more has been a man who has fearlessly kept his oath 
of office. This county needs such a man in such an 
office for time to come. He merits the support of 
every order-loving, law-abiding citizen.” And as a 


438 


As They Did It 

proof that many practically agreed with Dr. Burns 
in this sentiment, a most vigorous campaign was 
prosecuted for Mr. Fillmore, and a decided victory 
was won for him at the ballot-box. 

The excitement of the fall election had begun to 
wane but little when Warden was compelled to bury 
one of her oldest and most highly-esteemed citizens. 
The Eastern sanitarium — as every other expedient — 
failed to restore Dr. Beach. 

‘'Shall we not take you back to Warden?’’ asked 
his wife and daughters. 

“No; let me die here, near the home of my child- 
hood; and let my eyes, as they last look out upon 
nature, rest upon this mountain ; and let it be to me 
an emblem of the fixedness of God’s love for poor, 
sinful man; and let my soul say with the psalmist, T 
will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence 
cometh my help.’ You may take my body back to 
Warden, for I know that that is your choice for a 
burial-place.” 

Among the many who sorrowed over the death 
of the old doctor, none, outside of his family, mourned 
more deeply than did Robert Bennett. The relations 
that had existed between them had been, in marked 
degree, like those of father and son. He returned 
from the medical department of the university — which 
he had entered in the latter part of September — to 
attend the funeral; and his heart had prompted him 
to comply with the request of the family, to sit as a 
mourner with them. “I did so much desire to con- 
verse with Dr. Beach once more,” he said to Dun- 
barr, as they two were together the evening after the 
funeral. “I wished to speak to him of a matter con- 


Realized 


439 


cerning which I am much exercised, and to receive 
his advice relative to it. Dunbarr, the conviction is 
growing with me that I should fit myself for the 
ministry of the gospel. I wonder how Dr. Beach 
would receive this idea.’^ 

'‘You remember, Bennett, that in his last talk with 
us he emphasized the importance of an ability to 
treat the soul of man, and that he felt physical inter- 
ests should be esteemed of less moment than spiritual 
interests.'’ 

“Yes; I have often recalled his last advice to us. 
But it seemed that he had set his heart that I, in com- 
ing years, should take up the practice that he was 
being compelled to relinquish." 

“I understand that that was his ambition for you. 
Yet we knew him so well that we can be morally cer- 
tain that this would be his advice: 'Follow your 
rational convictions, Bennett ; for unless you do, you 
will never attain to true manhood.' You have 
thought of this matter sufficiently long to approxi- 
mate a conclusion and to conceive a feasible course, 
have you not?" 

''Yes; and briefly it is this: Finish my medical 
course as quickly as I can — and I find that my in- 
struction under Dr. Beach will make the first two 
years of work in the school of medicine comparatively 
easy — and then complete a seminary course of the- 
ology. In the meantime, I shall improve my leisure 
in matters which pertain to religion and the Church." 

''Fitted as a minister and a physician for a foreign 
field, eh?" 

''Yes, if that seems to be the way of duty, but not 
necessarily so. I am persuaded that a knowledge 


440 


As They Did It 


of theology will not hinder a physician; neither need 
a knowledge of medicine hinder a minister of the 
gospel. I am young yet, and it seems that these 
opportunities are open to me.’' 

‘‘Yes; but life, at the longest, will be all too short 
for the satisfaction of your justifiable ambition ; and 
presumably you will conclude, before many months 
are gone, that it were better to know everything of a 
little than a little of everything ; and, concluding thus, 
Robert Bennett will soon lose himself in either medi- 
cine or the ministry.” 

“Mother,” remarked Jack Holcomb, in his usual 
impetuous manner, “I want something different from 
anything that we have ever had for our Christmas 
doings.” 

“Well, my son, how do you desire to have it?” 

“I have n’t it all thought out yet ; but one thing 
I have settled upon, and that is to have a big dinner 
at our church at six o’clock on Christmas eve, and to 
invite all the poor boys and girls in the neighborhood 
of our church to come to it. We boys of our Sunday- 
school class have been talking the matter up, and we 
have decided upon that part of it.” 

“I would suggest. Jack, that your class may ma- 
ture this matter more satisfactorily by conferring 
with your teacher, superintendent, and pastor.” 

“O yes ; I see. That is the right idea, mother. 
You are always helping a fellow out. I am president 
of my class, and I will call a meeting right away, and 
we will have this thing a-going. Christmas is but a 
little way off.” 

Jack lost no time in carrying out his mother’s ad- 


Realized 


441 


vice. His Sunday-school teacher aided her class in 
bringing the matter before the superintendent and 
Dr. Burns, and the suggestion of Jack’s class deter- 
mined, to an appreciable extent, the character of the 
Christmas exercises of the Sunday-school of the First 
Church of Warden. At six o’clock, Christmas eve, 
a bountiful dinner was served to all the children of 
the rich and of the poor who chose to partake ; and 
after this their parents and friends were served. At 
eight-thirty o’clock an appropriate service began in 
the auditorium of the church. This room was tastily 
decorated. Several artistic designs, fitted to serve 
as receptacles, contained the presents that were soon 
to be distributed. It had been provided that no one 
should go from the First Church of Warden that 
night without some gift. A committee had been busy 
while the dinner was in progress and while the con- 
gregation had been gathering, taking the names of 
those who did not usually attend with them. The 
program was principally that of song. Immediately 
before the distribution of the presents the super- 
intendent gave a short but soul-stirring address, por- 
traying, in well-chosen words, God’s great gift to our 
needy race ; and at the close, a more generally-satis- 
fied audience never went from the First Church of 
Warden at the Christmas-time. 

Jack Holcomb and Willie Wilson met as they 
were going from the church, and the latter remarked : 
^‘Jack, you an’ all the boys must come over to the 
new church to-morrow night ; we are goin’ to have a 
Christmas-t^e there, an’ every one will have a good 
time.” Within the last year, upon Jack’s invitation, 
Willie had made two short visits at Jack’s home. 


442 


As They Did It 


‘'I have found much that is encouraging as I have 
reviewed our year’s work,” remarked Dunbarr in a 
short address at the last meeting of the Anti-saloon 
League this year. '‘Our present laws, when en- 
forced, are not a dead letter; and our experiences 
this year teach us that our laws which pertain to the 
liquor-traffic can be enforced. It is a fact that the 
liquor-dealers of Warden do admit that this has been 
the poorest year in the history of their business. 
There are now many of them declaring that if our 
League continues to flourish until next spring, they 
will not renew their license. The several convictions 
reached at the last term of court have shaken the 
courage of the saloonists and lawless druggists. The 
cases yet pending are as likely to be convicted as 
any that we have brought to trial. We can prac- 
tically close the saloons of Warden in a few years. 
Let us go forward with renewed courage and zeal. 
Let us have faith in the Anti-saloon League. It is 
that organization which embraces the many rational 
temperance ideas. Mr. C. N. Howard — the author 
of the ‘Rochester idea’ — can find in our Agitation, 
Law-enforcement, and Legislative Departments the 
wise provisions that will aid him in carrying forward 
his beautiful idea of the ‘Prohibition Union of Chris- 
tian Men.’ ” 

“O Marian, dear! What a beautiful new ring!” 
exclaimed Gertrude Bronson on the afternoon next 
following Christmas. She had called at Marian’s 
home, and they two were alone. 

“I am glad that you like it, Gertrude. It is a 
treasure to me,” answered Marian with averted gaze, 


Realized 


443 

while the rich blood mantled her handsome face, 
despite her effort to conceal emotion. 

“Please now, Marian, do n’t try to hide from me 
longer. Do you think that I am a bit surprised? I 
may have been blind in a matter that you spoke of 
once, but I have seen love’s fair conquest with you, 
and have been looking for this ring.” 

“This ring, Gertrude?” 

“Yes ; or rather a ring to tell the sweet story that 
this one tells.” 

“But, Gertrude, dear, you have hid from me ; not 
even permitting a ring to tell me your ‘sweet story.’ ” 

“But have I really hid from you, Marian? 
Plave n’t I known that you understood all? We’ve 
been just a little coy; that is all, dear;” and they 
embraced each other tenderly. 

“You may see the ring, Gertrude — may take it in 
your own dear hand;” and she placed it within Ger- 
trude’s palm. It was a rich diamond, set within an 
ample gold band. 

Gertrude admired the diamond for a moment, and 
then asked, “May I look within the band, Marian?” 

“Certainly. You may look and read.” 

“O Marian, how I do love that inscription : ‘Each 
for the other, and both for Christ !’ Mr. Milford’s 
very spirit is tuned to just such a sentiment of late. 
At last, dear, I am sure he has arrived at your ideal 
of noble manhood. But, Marian, I have a ring too. 
It is a gem, indeed, — the one his mother received 
when she became a bride. You shall see it, dear, 
upon my wedding-day.” 

“Must I wait long, Gertrude?” 

“No; not very long. Quite early in the new year 


444 


As They Did It 


I shall take, by legal right, a name that I have loved 
these years. And are you to tarry very long, 
Marian?'’ 

''No; our happy date is at no very distant day — 
please our Master — no very distant day." 

It had been decided to hold the last meeting of 
the year in the new church. "I can think of no better 
way to close the year than by a religious service held 
here where God has blessed us so abundantly in the 
last few months," said Dr. Burns as he, on the last 
Sunday afternoon of December, addressed the people 
of the "Branch Church;" as it was becoming cus- 
tomary to call it. 

This service began at eight o'clock on New-Year’s 
Eve. Dr. Burns gave a very practical sermon, being 
guided in his thought by the text, "I will lift up mine 
eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. 
My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven 
and earth." "The life of man," said he, "demands 
something permanent — something that shall endure. 
But sometimes, in our weariness and disappointment, 
it is restful to look away to the distant hills, which 
seem to lift themselves up in everlastingness ; but 
shall we look unto the hills for help ? These can help 
us only as they inspire a faith in Him who, in his 
almightiness, is beyond and above the hills. We can 
not afford to trust in any creature thing for the help 
that our souls so greatly need. Our help cometh 
from the Lord who made all things. We all have 
been helped so much in this year; but all our help 
has come directly or indirectly from the Lord. We 
shall need — O, so much we shall need! — help in the 
year to come. A provision is made, by Him who 


Realized 


445 

knows us in our entirety, for all of our necessities. 
Our help cometh from the Lord.'' 

As he closed his discourse, Dr. Burns stated that 
it would be necessary for him to leave now ; but that 
he had arranged with Robert Bennett, who was 
spending the holiday vacation in the city, to conduct 
the after service. Bennett entered upon his duty with 
embarrassing misgivings ; but after a few minutes 
he lost his self-consciousness by virtue of the very 
beautiful spirit which pervaded the service. 

am only to act as your leader," he said ; ^‘and 
you will move forward in song and in prayer, and in 
word of testimony concerning the help that you have 
received from the Lord." 

Many members of the Christian Endeavor Society 
of the First Church of Warden were present, and they 
promptly carried forward the leader’s suggestions ; 
and soon all felt the spirit of liberty. To quote from 
the many who spoke in honor of the Master would 
be to undertake too much. Walter Milford, in a 
humble but finished manner, gave a recital of his 
religious experiences. 'T have no other ambition, I 
choose no greater honor, than to be a humble yet 
faithful servant of Jesus Christ," were his closing 
words. Later in the meeting Mrs. Campbell spoke. 
‘T owe my very all to Christ,” she said. ‘‘He put 
into the hearts of his dear servants to come to me 
when I was shamelessly throwing my life away. And 
they came just in time. I thank my Savior that they 
did not longer postpone their coming." 

“While this has been to me a year of deep sor- 
row, it has also been one of great mercies. I have 
learned to trust God, and I have proved his care for 


446 


As They Did It 


the widow and the fatherless. He has not left my 
soul uncared for, and he has provided for all my 
creature necessities,'’ was the substance of the falter- 
ing testimony of Mrs. Graham. It may here be 
stated that an aged and wealthy aunt had come to 
spend her last days with Mrs. Graham, making her 
the heir to her estate. After Mrs. Graham, the voice 
of Thomas Wilson was heard. ‘Tn the past yaers," 
he said, ‘'Oi have been a very wake mon. But in this 
very last yaer, they told to me of Christ who could 
hilp me more 'n any good mon could. An’ Oi wor 
led to coom to him, an’ he has hilped me. Oi niver 
intend to go more into the fur-off land to be stripped 
o’ me all ; but Oi intend to kape naer to me Father’s 
house. An’ Oi do this on account o’ me loove fur 
him, an’ because Oi nade his hilp ; fur Oi ’m a poor 
wake mon shtill.” And near the close, the voice of 
a cultured woman was heard. She spoke at length; 
but only a few of her finished sentences can we quote : 
‘‘Of late, the Spirit has shown me, as it did the Church 
of the Laodiceans in the olden time, that I was 
‘wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and 
naked ;’ and I have been led to see the wisdom of 
securing that gold which is tried in the fire, that 
I may be truly rich ; and white raiment, that I may be 
truly clothed. I have, within the last few months, 
received the teachings of the Spirit ; I have yielded 
lovingly to the just claims of my Savior, and I count 
this evening to be the happiest moment of my life.” 
When the speaker had concluded, Walter Milford 
was weeping for joy; for this voice was that of his 
mother. 

When the service was concluded, Willie Wilson 


Realized 


447 


came to Dr. Dttnbarr and said to him in undertone : 

jest wanted to tell how that in this year I have 
seen smart an’ good young men engage in meetin’s 
an’ much other good work, helpin’ folks, an’ they 
seem some like the Christ they teach about in the 
Church an’ Sunday-school ; an’ I am tryin’ to be like 
these, an’ I like to ; but I felt too ’fraid, like, to tell 
all this in the meetin’. But I wanted to say all this 
to you, an’ to tell you that I have great hope in me 
father now; he is much stronger than he was, an’ 
it is because you have helped him so much. An’ I 
want to be strong an’ smart like you an’ Mr. Milford, 
an’ I ’m going to try hard to be.” 

Dunbarr’s reply was : have been much pleased 

with you, Willie, in the last year. I am sure that 
you will try to become strong and noble, and I intend 
to assist you in every way that I can.” 

^'It all seemed so unlike Warden,” remarked 
Hazel Beach, the youngest daughter of Dr. Beach, as 
she, escorted by Robert Bennett, was going to her 
home from the service. ''And yet it was all so very, 
very good.” 

Mrs. Stevens had invited Deacon Grimes and wife 
to spend the last minutes of the old year with her in 
her home ; and their conversation, after the service 
at the new church, was characteristic. Mrs. Stevens 
gave the following as a summary of her rather ex- 
tended remarks : "They have turned the religious 
head of Warden wild. They have polluted our dear 
edifice by leading the rabble into it. They have 
squandered thousands of dollars in the construction 
of a house of worship for the ignorant poor. Acting 
upon the vain hope that they can alleviate the igno- 


448 


As They Did It 


ranee of these people, they have opened a school 
under the same roof with their sanctuary, where they 
teach scores of benighted people, afternoons and 
evenings, five days in a week. They have succeeded 
in leading the lives of our dear friends, Walter and 
Mrs. Milford, into the whirlpool of their fanaticism. 
But though the heavens fall, I shall not be moved! 
And what can I do to counteract all this? I seem 
powerless V’ 

'‘O my Mastah! How precious thou art to me! 
How kind thou hast been to my deah Church and to 
the people of my city, in this yeah that is now closing ! 
In thy mercy, give us equal blessing in the yeah to 
come,” were the utterances of ‘Auntie’ Sawyer’s 
heart, just as the clock in the church-tower was 
sounding the hour whereat a new year dawns. 

Two and one-half years have passed. It is a beau- 
tiful afternoon, late in June. The whistles of the 
various factories in Warden have sounded the close 
of another work-day. Upon a rustic seat, in the 
midst of an ample and well-kept lawn, sits a beautiful 
young mother with her dimpled babe of six months. 
She has just come out from her modern home, soon 
to welcome the return of the devoted young husband 
and father. While she is waiting there, a laborer 
with his dinner-pail is passing. He notices her, and 
comes up the walk to where she is sitting to tarry 
but a moment in a kindly greeting, prompted by his 
grateful heart. He is Tom Wilson; and he speaks 
as follows : “A roight foine evenin’ to yez. Mis’ Dun- 
barr ! Oi saw yez as Oi coom down the strate, an’ 
Oi could n’t pass widoot lookin’ agin oopon the dear 


Realized 


449 


babie b’y a short toime. An’ he ’s growin’ foine, 
sure ; an’ he ’s such a plump bit ov a mon and he 
put his brown hand upon the child’s pink cheek, leav- 
ing thereon the grimmy mark of honest labor. 

‘‘Och, now ! an’ what have Oi done ? Oi ’v siled 
the pure cheek ov yer sweet b’y !” and the poor man 
was much annoyed. 

‘‘Never mind, never mind, Mr. Wilson,” answered 
Gertrude. “If our boy bears no other stain save that 
of honest toil, he will remain pure indeed — pure in- 
deed,” she repeated, thoughtfully. 

“No nade to faer aboot the child. Mis’ Dunbarr. 
He ’ll be brought oop roight by sich a father and 
moother as he has, sure. An’ Oi ’m so glad that he ’s 
a b’y, and that Warden may still have a Dr. Dunbarr 
when the child’s father may have grown old an’ have 
passed away ! Me own Willie is a good b’y too, an’ 
he is in school now, an’ is lamin’ well. An’ all sames 
to be goin’ well wid us, since Oi dhrink no more at 
all. An’ Oi owe it all to yez, an’ to the dear docthor, 
an’ to Him who has hilped me more than all good 
mons could hilp me. An’ Oi niver intend to tooch 
the dhrink no more at all, at all.” And he bowed 
his adieu. 

He had not gone far down the street when he met 
Mr. and Mrs. Walter Milford, returning from their 
school work. They stopped a moment to greet Wil- 
son, and Marian took her hand from her husband’s 
arm and offered it to the laborer. Wilson stepped 
nearer to take the proffered hand, but hesitated as 
he noticed how very soiled his own hand was. 

“No, Oi thank yez, Mis’ Milford; but Oi kint 
take yer white hand, fur it would begrime it so to 
29 


450 


As They Did It 


place it widin me dirty palm. Oi ’m jist returnin’ 
from me worruk.” 

‘‘We also, Air. Wilson, are returning from our 
work, and we insist on shaking hands with you as a 
fellow-laborer. All honest work is equally noble.” 

“We are sure. Air. Wilson, that you are pleased 
to know that your son is doing remarkably well in 
all his studies,” remarked Walter Alilford. “We are 
enjoying our work and all of our students, but we 
are particularly pleased with Willie. He will honor 
you, one day, by taking a prominent position in the 
industrial affairs of Warden.” 

“Well, it’s happy that Oi am!” exclaimed Tom 
to himself, as he passed on toward his home. “Ale 
heart is loight, indade ! Ale koind friends are still 
wid me, who have hilped me so. Ale b’y, Willie, will 
soon do honor to the father that has disgraced him 
so many, many sad toimes. An’ Oi have a dape 
loove in me heart fur the Great One who is able 
an’ willin’ to hilp an’ to save poor Tom Wilson.” 






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